One Eighty
by Emily-Of-Midgard
Summary: A challenge. An attempt to write one hundred and eighty drabbles over the school year. Will this cover an assortment of ships, verses, and AUs? Yes. Will it be fun? Maybe. Will it eventually cause me to go into a Javert-like crisis?...Probably.
1. 1 Introduction

Author's Note: I enjoy writing and I really want to get better at it. I find during the school year, I loose all motivation to write and this is something that really bothers me. So, I've decided to challenge myself. For the one hundred and eighty days I have left in school, I'm going to write a drabble a day. They'll be about a number of subjects and can span a number of different universes. For now I'll be doing the 100 word challenge prompts though I may do different stuff depending on different things.

I'm not sure how I feel about this drabble. When I saw 'Introduction', I couldn't really think of anything to write so I decided to do a Toulon piece. However, I'm really excited about this challenge. Please tell me what you think.

Verse: Book!Verse and a little bit of Musical!Verse.

Word Count: 329

* * *

_"To the side."_

_"Don't speak up."_

_"Don't disobey."_

_"Stay in line."_

Toulon is a place one cannot forget easily but the first experience you have with the place, over all, is the one that stands out the most.

You're shoved in line with all the other inmates and you're handed a uniform, or what rags managed to pass for one. The color of your clothes now identify you. What you wear symbolizes who you are.

You'd laugh if you were in the mood. Prison isn't far from the way the real world works. You are still judged by your clothes. Even in Hell, the clothes still make the man.

_"You there! Work harder!"_

_"What are you waiting for?"_

From dawn until dusk you work alongside your fellow inmates. There is little time for talk yet you all manage to sing, somehow. One after another in a zigzagged row, each man chained to the other and everyone suffering.

_"What do you think you're doing?!"_

_SMACK._

And then there were the guards.

The guards are a constant drone in the back of your mind. If you got out of line or misbehaved in any way, you were punished. Severely. If Toulon was the hive, the guards were the vicious leaders who would strike down the workers.

That wasn't to say that the workers didn't give as good as they got. You've witnessed several fights between the guards and the inmates and most of the time, the inmates won. However, the repercussions from these fights were so severe, the fights weren't seen as a good way to revolt.

You're smart enough though not to get involved in these fights, though. You're smart enough to revolt in other ways. While they plan their next attack, you plan your escape.

Because by far, the best advice you've been given isn't from the guards. It's from the man next to you in the chain line.

_"Look down, look down. Don't look 'em in the eye."_


	2. 69 Annoyance

Author's Note: Thank you for the review! I am so glad you like it!

I felt like writing some Valjean-Javert interactions and so…this happened.

Verse: Book!Verse more than anything.

Word Count: 658

* * *

Javert came to with a splitting headache and a broken leg. He had always been a healthy individual and couldn't recall the last time his throat and lungs hurt like this. It felt like every single muscle in his body had been damaged.

He was also perplexed. If this was Hell (and he was pretty sure it was. That's where suicides went after all), Hell was a lot…_squishier _then he had imagined or been told. Javert was pretty sure he was resting on the comfiest mattress he had ever been on and covered with a warm quilt. He cracked an eye open and immediately wished he didn't. His eyesight was blurry but his sudden experience with the light caused the last part of him that wasn't in agony to ache.

"Oh good!" A far too cheery voice rang out. "You're awake!"

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh _no. _

He screwed his eyes shut.

A warm hand fell across his forehead. Javert gritted his teeth and moved away from the touch. He tried to raise an arm to fend off the unwanted help but he found that his arm was bound to his body.

'If I don't open my eyes,' Javert childishly rationalized. 'He'll go away and I'll wake up from this nightmare. There's no way _he's _here.'

There was a long suffering sigh from somewhere above. "You could cooperate, you know. Please open your eyes. I need to check for a concussion."

The tone was polite and friendly yet it was infused with such authority that Javert opened his eyes involuntarily. Again, he wished he didn't when a blinding light shone in his eyes.

"Good, it appears your concussion has gone away. Perhaps I shouldn't have let you fall asleep…," Jean Valjean spoke, muttering to himself for a moment before speaking loudly again. "At least you survived and that's what matters."

"So. This is what Hell is like." Javert said mildly.

"You aren't in Hell." Valjean said.

"I beg to differ," Javert continued, taking almost no notice of Valjean. "Hell seems to consist of me bearing many wounds while being tormented eternally by my greatest demon."

Valjean didn't offer any more comments. He simply continued to be good in that infuriating way of his.

* * *

"Theoretically speaking," Javert said easily after a while. Too easily. Valjean was becoming increasingly worried that he actually thought that he was in Hell. "If I am not in Hell, then why am I here?"

"You jumped into the river." Valjean responded.

"I know that. I did it. What I don't understand though, theoretically speaking of course."

"Of course."

"What I don't understand is why I ended up here of all places."

"That's easy," Valjean said. He looked to the side, almost as if he was embarrassed. "I jumped in after you. After you vanished and I made sure Marius was safe, I went to look for you. I was the sole witness to…your stunt and no sooner had you hit the water was I jumping after you."

"Why?" Javert asked, a look of incomprehension on his face.

Valjean took a moment to gather his thoughts and when he spoke, he spoke both calmly and slowly. "Because you only did your duty and I do not wish for anyone to suffer because of me." 'Among other things', Valjean's mind supplied, but it wouldn't do to talk about that right now.

"Oh." Javert said simply and leaned back. There was a moment of silence where Javert look satisfied and Valjean just looked awkward.

"You're…okay with that?" He finally asked.

"Oh yes," Javert said, almost in a relieved tone. "I was somewhat uncertain whether or not I was actually in Hell. Yet, you seem to be quite decent in your tormenting way. This confirms it: now I am sure I am in Hell."

Valjean was a patient man but he felt that his growing headache had nothing to do with the cold water in the river.


	3. ER

Author's Note: This doesn't follow one of the 100 prompts but the idea came to me today in class. I was watching Rooster Teeth's Let's Play of Surgeon Simulator and then I realized that Enjolras and Grantaire's couple name was the name of a medical drama. …Then this happened.

Besides, it might have been worth it just to type the sentence "GRANTAIRE STOP SLAPPING HIS BRAIN!"

Verse: Very, very Modern!AU.

Word Count: 1,126

* * *

**"Why did I let you talk me into this?"**

_"Because secretly, you've always wanted to do this."_

**"No Grantaire, I haven't. Joly wants to be a doctor. Combeferre wants to be a doctor. I, on the other hand, have never wanted to do open heart surgery."**

"_Come on! Apollo is the god of medicine, is he not?"_

**"Apollo does indeed have medical knowledge as its patron. I am not Apollo. I am Enjolras. I have no medical knowledge whatsoever."**

_"Neither do I! That's what makes it fun!" _

**"By god, you are drunk and I am foolish. So I'm in control of the fingers?"**

_"Yeah, you have better coordination than me so I figured it best that you do it. I'll control the arm. We just have to select the mission and…oh! This doesn't look too bad! Should be easy!"_

**"Yes, all we have to do is crack a guy open and take out his heart."**

_"And put in a new one! Oh no…"_

**"Grantaire, this might work if you don't knock all the stuff on the table."**

_"Sorry, fingers slipped. I suppose I better pull the hand up."_

**"That might help."**

_"Okay, do you think we should use the hammer first? That might help."  
_

**"I really could care less. Put your hand down and I'll put my fingers around it."**

_"You have a lovely grip, Apollo."_

**"Shut up Grantaire. Now just move the hammer over to the ribs and-OH MY GOD."**

_"Holy shit!"_

**"I-What-How-His entire rib cage just blew up!"**

_"Oh man, that's not good…"_

**"Oh good, it took us just over a minute to brutally murder this guy. You are a brilliant doctor, Grantaire. We might as well just enroll you in medical school."**

_"Dude, that just…blew up! Do rib cages do that?"_

**"I don't know go ask Joly! Better yet, get him to do this stupid game with you!"**

_"Come on Apollo! We have to fix this guy!"_

**"As opposed to brutally murdering him?"**

_"Duh. Alright, I don't think we should use the hammer as liberally as we did last time. Maybe if we just tap it…Voila! Alright let's just get rid of these."_

**"Oh yes, those pesky ribs. Let's just throw these lungs out while we're at it, don't need that. Wait, I don't think you're supposed to do…oh why do I care. "**

_"Haha! See, we're succeeding! Now let's just move this over here and then we can put the heart in! Then we're one level closer…to…"_

**"What are you rambling abou…"**

_"Uh…"_

**"…WHERE'S THE HEART!?"  
**

_"Oh boy…"_

**"IT'S GONE! YOU THREW IT ON THE FLOOR!"**

_"We can go get it I think…"_

**"HOW!? YOU CAN'T JUST GO WASH IT OFF IN THE SINK LIKE A BOTTLE, GRANTAIRE! Oh my god…"**

* * *

_"I thought you could survive with only one kidney."_

**"You can. Why do you ask?"**

_"I don't see any real reason then for this guy to need two kidneys."_

**"I see no reason for us to be playing this game."**

_"Alright, so…where are the kidneys?"_

**"I imagine under the ribs. Let's just get the-GRANTAIRE! Why the hell would you that?"**

_"I didn't mean to do it!"_

**"Of course you would. Of course YOU would break a glass in a double kidney transplant recipient's body. Look, he's bleeding all over the place!"  
**

_"No wait dude, I have a good idea!"_

**"I should go mark my calendar."**

_"Okay, do you see that green needle over there?" _

**"Yes."**

_"I saw online that if you stab the needle into the guy, he stops bleeding."  
_

**"Really? Might as well try it. Just lower your arm over it and then we'll…"**

_"…"_

**"…"**

_"…What the f-."_

**"…DID YOU JUST GET US HIGH!?"**

_"Maybe."_

**"SON OF A BITCH GRANTAIRE."**

_"I thought you didn't care about this game, Apollo."_

**"I just want to get this over with so YOU won't bug me. Come on, let's try not to commit doctor assisted homicide while higher than a kite."**

_"I can't tell what's real and what isn't anymore."  
_

**"You seem to be finding the tools pretty well though so it mustn't be too bad."**

_"Oh it isn't. What you're seeing now on the screen is what I see after a particularly strong drink."_

**"So this is your life basically."**

_"Minus the death and blood of course…wait, no leave those in and yep, you do have my life."  
_

**"Damn it all."**

* * *

**"I have no idea how we managed to actually do that."**

_"You underestimate my doctoring skills Apollo."_

**"All I'm going to say in response to that is if I was bleeding out and you were the ER doctor, I'd rather die."**

_"'Perform a brain transplant.'"_

**"Well, nice to see this game is continuing to be realistic."**

_"Dude, look what we got."_

**"…Is that a-."**

_"Battle axe."_

**"Grantaire."**

_"…"_

**"Grantaire. Listen to me. We have to be very, very careful with this-DAMN IT, R!"**

_"Oh my GOD!"_

Somebody began to clap slowly.

**"Just as I thought. It only took you twelve seconds to brutally murder this guy." **

_"Looks like I have to be more gentle."_

**"Oh, big freaking shock: hitting somebody with a battle axe too hard will render them dead. I'm glad I was here to learn this lesson with you Grantaire."**

_"Alright, next guy. I've got to do this like an egg."_

**"Do you often break your eggs with battle axes, Grantaire?"**

_"Oh YEAH! Broke the skull in one movement! Celebration time!" _

**"Do you think drinking while doing **_**brain surgery **_**is a very good idea, R?"**

_"Hell yeah. Now we just have to get the brain out of there and slap in a new one!...Shit, it's connected. I didn't know that."_

**"That's because you're a special case. Your brain isn't connected to anything."**

_"Really?"_

**"That's because I am convinced you have no brain."**

_"…Ouch."_

**"I'm not in the mood to argue. What's that thing over there?"**

_"That's the life support."_

**"No, the thing next to it."**

_"Hmm, Let's find ou-AHHHHHH!"_

**"AHHHH!"**

**"IT'S** _A_ **LASER** _BEAM!"_

**"WHO THE HELL GAVE YOU A LASER!"**

_"A WONDERFUL person!"_

**"Grantaire. We must be gentle. Slowly move the laser and…what are you doing?"**

_"Sorry, I let the laser go!"  
_  
**"Oh joy, now it's swinging everywhere. I expect this patient will die"**

_"No Mister Enjolras, I expect YOU will die!"_

**"You did NOT just make that reference."**

_"Eheheheh."_

**"GRANTAIRE STOP SLAPPING HIS BRAIN!"  
**

_"Got the laser! Now we just have to-."_

**"AHHH! OH MY GOD!"**

_"His brain is gone!"  
_

**"It popped out like a jack in the box! This is so wrong, this is so wrong! Grab the brain, grab the brain!"**

_"Better just slap this in there and-YEAH!"_

**"Good, he lives. I'm done!"**

_"But Enjolras! Don't you want to do the side missions? Or get some achievements…hey Enjolras."_

**"What?"**

_"Let's flip him off."_


	4. 58 Kick in the Head

Author's Note- I wrote this because of reasons. Also, I seem to enjoy tormenting Javert. Word of warning, this contains established Valvert (Inspector Javert/Jean Valjean) so if you don't like this, don't read this chapter.

This really should have been published earlier. Instead, I'm just sitting here on tumblr, blogging about Grantaire.

Have a great weekend everyone! Thanks for all the lovely reviews and I'll see you all on Tuesday (no school on Labor Day).

Universe: Musical!Verse. Personally, I see these two as Quast!Vert and Colm!Jean but you can interpret it however you want.

Word Count: 452

* * *

One of the few remaining memories Jean Valjean had of his sister was the memory of a fight. When he had been very young, he had, more often than not, engaged in fights with the local boys. They really didn't mean anything. All boys fought at that age but the time Valjean was thinking about was the time he thought it a good idea to jump the largest boy in the village.

His sister had only sighed and tended to his copious wounds, sardonically remarking: "It's all fun and games until somebody looses an eye."

Of course, he hadn't lost an eye, then or otherwise. However, he was suddenly reminded of that little comment as he looked down at Javert.

He was lying in their bed, unconscious, and he looked like he had taken another trip into the Seine. A bandage was wrapped around his head and over his eye, obscuring it from view. The other eye was clenched tightly, as if Javert was in pain even in sleep. The bandages were dirty and bloodstained, the work of rookie policemen in a hurry.

Valjean didn't know how much the Prefect knew about the relationship he had with Javert but he knew enough to have the rookies bring him here after the incident. It had started as an ordinary patrol. Javert had received word that a dangerous criminal known only as Noir was staging a robbery. He had gone alone. Thankfully, the Prefect had found out his plans relatively quickly and sent the rookies just in time to see Javert loose a brutal fight.

Noir didn't get away though. The rookies had seen to that. Apparently Javert was respected far more than he had thought. Jean Valjean was not one to take pleasure in another man's pain but a small part of him felt grim satisfaction, if only because Javert wasn't as alone as he thought he was.

Still, the damage had been done. The doctor had examined him at the station and his report was given to Valjean: several broken bones, a number of cuts, and somebody had hit him in the head and then in the eye with the metal handle of cane.

The anger he felt was immediately crushed however when Javert moaned in his sleep, obviously in agony. Valjean's expression changed from one of rage to one of concern as he sat down on the side of their bed. Valjean wasn't sure he could change the bandages properly and all he could do was wait for the doctor to arrive. He couldn't even comfort him when he was all bandaged up.

There was only one thing he really could do. He would lay by his side until he awoke.


	5. 35 Hold My Hand

AN: Here's something I never thought I'd write: an Eposette drabble. BTW, I got a review about the game Grantaire and Enjolras are playing. Firstly, thank you for reviewing! Secondly, it's called Surgeon Simulator. It's this really hilarious game where you do surgery and…you are really bad at it. It's kind of hard to explain so if you want to watch the video the Grantaire and Enjolras drabble was based on, here it is: /watch?v=Y2F3ZWEEbF4

There's also some really lovely videos spinning off that. I recommend the one where they're operating in the back of the truck and in space. There may be a future E/R drabble based on that :D.

Verse: High School!AU

Word Count: 1,051

* * *

The two girls walked down the hallway. Physically, they were as different as night and day. The girl on the right was dark and surly. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and it looked like it hadn't been brushed in days. (If anyone had told her that, she would have grinned. She worked very hard to look that way.) Her eyes were dark and constantly moving, always looking and searching. The girl gave off an aura of suspicion and her dark, torn, and worn clothes did nothing to dissuade that.

The girl on the left, on the other hand, was light to the other girl's dark. She was dressed in whites and pinks, her blonde hair loose and wavy. A bright smile lit up her face and she chirped a greeting to all her friends she saw in the hallway that fateful day. The friends in question couldn't even muster a nod as the two girls passed by. All they could do was stare.

Why were Cosette Fauchelevent and Eponine Thenardier even socializing? For that matter, why was Cosette Fauchelevent and Eponine Thenardier holding hands?

* * *

It started with a question.

"So, you and Marius broke up?"

Cosette turned to look at the girl standing above her. She knew Eponine. Everyone knew Eponine. She was odd, to say the least. Her father was in jail, as was her mother, for some sort of mail fraud scheme. Her brother, though he was quite a bit younger than her, was more popular in the small high school than she was. She didn't really have a clique. She rebelled in study hall with the Goths. She tormented the librarian with the Rebels. She ate lunch with the Geeks ("Just for kicks." She would say with a laugh.) and she played gym with the group that called themselves 'The Friends of the ABC's'.

Also known as Cosette's boyfriend and his friends.

"Yes," Cosette said as she laced up her sneakers. She really hated gym. She had many friends but due to dumb luck, all of her friends were in another class. Before yesterday, however, she had Marius. Though now… "I just thought we needed some time apart." She finished, staring at Eponine with narrowed eyes.

"I'm sorry." And she truly seemed to be, though Heaven knows why. Anyone who was Anybody know that Eponine had it bad for Marius. It was one of the main reasons Cosette had never socialized with the girl before.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I know." Eponine said simply. Cosette rolled her eyes and stood up, ending the conversation. She was normally a very kind and cheerful girl but something about Eponine rubbed her the wrong way.

"Look," Eponine said, grabbing Cosette's arm and forcing her to face her. There was an odd, pleading look in her eye. Now Cosette was thoroughly confused. "I know he hurt you."

This was too soon to talk about the breakup. The wounds were too raw and like hell was Cosette going to let her see her cry. "I need to go."

"Just listen to me. I have a plan."

"A plan for what?"

Eponine grinned grimly. "To get back at him."

* * *

"How old are you?"

Eponine grinned. "I'm younger than you." She calmly sipped her drink. Cosette stirred her cherry Coke and looked around, subconsciously slinking down into her seat. The last thing she needed was to be seen here, with _her. _

"And they sold you a Pina Colada?"

"Hell yeah! I love them. I think you'd like them too. You look like the fruity drink sort of girl. Perhaps a Cuba Libre…Waiter!" She called out. "One Cuba Libre for the lady here!"

"No, I'm really fine…," Cosette started, but the waiter was gone. "My father would kill me."

"That's true," Eponine said thoughtfully. "Not everyone can be a saint like him."

They drank in silence. Cosette found that she really did like Cuba Libres and after she ran out, she decided to have another. Then another. Call it nerves, call it sorrow, call it what you will, but soon enough, Cosette was drunk and willing to talk.

"Was this your plan the entire time?" Cosette said slowly, surprisingly eloquent for somebody so trashed. "'Get me drunk and take advantage of me?'"

"What sort of girl do you take me for?" Eponine said, a bit surprised. She hadn't though her to be that much of a lightweight. "I didn't intend this."

"What's your plan?"

"Maybe I should wait until your sober…"

"Because if you haven't got one, I do."

"Fire away."

"I think we should pretend to go out."

Cosette knocked the glass over as she spoke. She giggled. What a mess she had made. She picked up the bits of broken glass, not noticing the pain and put them on the table. When she looked up, Eponine was staring at her, her eyes all but popping out of her head.

Cosette giggled again. "You look funny!"

Eponine stared. "And I thought I was crazy….hell, I might still be. I think that's a great plan!"

"Really!" Cosette said, a sloppy smile playing on her face. "What was yours?"

Eponine shrugged. "I wanted to steal some hockey sticks and beat him up. Your plan is much better."

* * *

Cosette didn't think so the next day when they put their plan into action while she combated a hangover.

"This isn't going to work!" She hissed under he breath as they stood at Cosette's locker. "He won't notice. He isn't even here!"

"Relax. Rumors travel quickly. By lunch, he shall know we are both over him. Relax Cosette. Everything will work perfectly. You'll have a jealous boy."

Cosette suddenly thought of something. "Hey Eponine?"

"Yeah?"

"What's in it for you?"

The smile faltered on Eponine's face. It disappeared for a moment and then was replaced with a genuine one. "Because you don't deserve to be sad." She lifted Cosette's bandaged hand (Thank goodness she had managed to hide it from her papa.) and kissed it gently. She smirked at Cosette's confused expression and sauntered off, her walk more of a dance.

Cosette stared after her for a few moments then looked at the perfect lip print on her bandage. She smiled.

Perhaps she had gained something more than Marius's jealously.


	6. 61 Fairy Tale

Author's Note: Parts of this drabble I really like but the ending…not so much. But I really like the AU where Javert helps raise Cosette and the idea of Jean Valjean and Javert going to a parent/teacher conference was priceless. Besides, if you read some of the other drabbles, I really like putting Javert into awkward situations.

Fun fact: Did you know in one adaptation, Javert was given a name. In the 1952 adaptation, he's called Etienne. Saves me the trouble of coming up with a name, so I'm just going to use this one.

Verse: AU where Cosette is little and Javert is helping raise her. Thus, established Valvert.

Word Count: 826

* * *

_Father vs. The Bad Guys_

_Once upon a time there was a bad guy and he robbed a store. Somebody called the cops and they showed up and tried to lock him in the Stony Lonesome. But the bad guy was angry so Father had to beat him up. Then the bad guy hit Father so Father had to hit him with the light bulb gun. Then he came home and Papa bought us ice cream and cake. It was nice._

_By: Cosette._

* * *

Jean couldn't even look at Javert. He knew if he even glanced at him he would completely loose it. He put a hand over his mouth, somehow managing to transform his laugh into a cough. Though, judging by the teacher's reaction, she didn't buy it.

The woman fixed them both with a steely look. She reached down into her pile of papers and pulled out a drawing. It was by Cosette and featured a stickman Javert chasing a bunch of stickman robbers with a stick that shot lightning.

He could _feel _Javert squirming next to him. He started to cough harder.

"I think the reason I have called this parent/teacher conference is clear," The teacher said, looking between Javert and Jean. "Cosette's 'Fairy Tale' speaks for itself. Isn't that right, Misters Fauchelevent and Javert."

"Yes, it is," Javert said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "You see, I can explain-."

"You don't need too, Cosette has already told us much." She said in a dry tone and Jean swore to God that he heard Javert gulp.

"She has?"

"Cosette is always happy to tell us about how her Papa works in a garden and how her Father goes after criminals, and I quote 'makes them play'."

"You told her that?" Jean asked, things ceasing to be funny. "Javert, we talked about this. You can't impose your life doctrine on Cosette."

"She asked!" Javert cried, trying to retain some of his dignity as he sat in the child sized desk. Why was it that whenever there was a parent/teacher night, the teachers never managed to find appropriate seating for the adults. "Besides, she's a clever girl. She wanted to know."

"She's FOUR, Etienne!" A full name ultimatum. "You do NOT teach a four year old about criminals! You do not tell a four year old stories of beating up criminals! You do not tell a four year old stories about using a TASER criminals! Just…what the hel-HECK!?"

"I think the problem goes beyond that," The teacher said easily. "There clearly seems to be a disconnect here."

"Then what am I supposed to do, Jean?" Javert responded, his voice deadly calm. "She asked me. She's curious about my job. I wouldn't see you overreacting if she was taking about your job."

"That's completely different and you know it."

The door opened behind them and they both spun around. The teacher smiled a gigantic, quite fake smile at the little girl standing in the doorway.

"Why Cosette, why aren't you in the playroom with the other children?"

"Marius fell off the swings again." The teacher snarled.

"What happened?"

"He was trying to be a space man. He wanted to go into space." Cosette responded.

"And?"

Cosette shrugged. "He didn't make it."

The teacher groaned and ran out of the room. There was a moment of silence and then Cosette began to sniffle.

"Is Father in trouble?" Jean sighed.

"No sweetheart, nobody is in trouble. Your teacher was just a little worried about you and the stories you've been telling." Cosette didn't seem relieved. In fact, she just looked more upset.

"I'm sorry! I like Father's stories. I though everyone else would." And with that Cosette started to cry.

Jean was got to his feet the same time Javert did. Javert held up a hand. The signal was clear: let me deal with this. Javert walked over to the crying child and knelt so they were eye to eye.

"Cosette, that's enough. Don't cry."

"I've gotten you in trouble. I broke a rule!"

"No you didn't. I made a poor choice. I am to blame." Cosette stared at him for a few seconds, clearly not understanding what was going on, but she had stopped crying.

"You are to blame? You never make mistakes."

"Well, sometimes everybody does." She shook her head.

"No, you never make mistakes. You are the Law and the Law is not mocked."

"…Why did I tell her that?" Javert said, mostly to himself but partly to Jean. Jean made a mental note to screen whatever he told her from now on.

"Oh well," Cosette said, her tears forgotten. "Can we go home now? Marius's grandpa will be here soon and he yells a lot when Marius can't go to space. So does Marius."

"Yes, we can go." Javert responded, and the tiny girl reached up to hold his hand.

"Father? I have one last question." She asked as they left the school.

"Yes?"

"Why did Lucifer fall? And why in flames?"


	7. 2 Love

Author's Note- George Blagden and that post on Tumblr about Grantaire singing this cover and Enjolras' reaction.

That's all I have to say.

Verse: Modern Day!AU

Word Count: 677

* * *

Enjolras awoke with a start. He flailed about in the dark, trying to locate where the sound that had woken him up was coming from. The '3:00 A.M.' shone brightly on his alarm clock, mocking him. Propping himself up on his elbow, he unlocked his phone to reveal a text from Marius.

**Dude, you need to see R's YouTube video.**

**What? **Enjolras texted back, trying to see through his messy hair. Marius's response was almost instant.

**You haven't heard?**

**Heard WHAT Pontmercy? It's three in the morning, I'm not up playing on the computer. I have a life.**

**So you've never seen R's YouTube channel?**

**No. **

**Enjolras, you need to go see it right now. His username 'CyNick'. Watch his latest video.**

**No. It's three in the morning! I need to sleep.**

There was actually a pause between this text and the last. When it finally came, it looked like Marius was trying to choose his words carefully. **I understand that Enjolras, but you REALLY need to watch it. Just trust me on this one.**

With almost an animalistic groan, Enjolras grabbed his laptop (one of his biggest fears was people finding out he actually slept next to it sometimes.) and yanked it open. He waited for it to boot up and then he pulled up Google. One quick search later, he found himself on Grantaire's YouTube page.

Most of the videos appeared to be covers. Everybody knew that Grantaire played the guitar but like his artistic skills and his dancing skills, nobody ever saw him do it. The only talent Grantaire advertised was his ability to drink.

He seemed to have quite a few fans. Enjolras raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. He scrolled though the videos, eventually finding the latest one. "Why a question mark?" He said out loud.

He clicked on it and the video began to play. Grantaire sat there, holding a guitar. He smiled slightly and began to strum the guitar. A familiar song began to play.

_"Love of mine, someday you will die. But I'll be close behind. I'll follow you into the dark. No blinding lights, or tunnels to gates of white. Just our hands clasped so tight. Waiting for the hint of a spark."_

Enjolras' eyes widened. Grantaire was good. Grantaire was very good. He had a very interesting voice that just…captivated him.

_"If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied. Illuminate the 'Nos' on their vacancy signs. If there's none beside you when your soul embarks, then I will follow you into the dark."_

Enjolras found himself frowning though. This was very good, yes, but he didn't understand Pontmercy's desire for him to see it. In fact, at second glance, he realized that he had received other texts, all of them demanding that he check out this video. Well, he would just have to-.

_"In revolutionary school, as vicious as Musain Rule."_

What?

Grantaire frowned slightly, a sad look replacing the thoughtful one he had worn during the video. _"I got my feelings bruised…by the leader in red."_

"Oh my god." Enjolras breathed.

_"And I propped the bar, as he told me 'R, you're a good for nothing fool," _Grantaire's voice cracked a bit as he looked straight into the camera. _"And I heard every word that he said."_

_"If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied. Illuminate the 'Nos' on their vacancy signs. If there's none beside you when your soul embarks, then I will follow you into the dark."_

_"I'll follow you…."  
_

Enjolras grabbed his phone as soon as the video ended. He jumped up from the bed, his laptop sliding away. He dialed Grantaire's number with trembling fingers.

He picked up on the first ring. "Enjolras?" He asked and for once, he didn't sound wasted. He sounded like he had been crying.

"I never called you a good for nothing fool." Enjolras cried. There was a long pause and Enjolras heard the sound of somebody drinking from a bottle.

"Here's the thing Enjolras," Grantaire said, sounding even worse. "You never had to."


	8. 48 Childhood

Author's Note- While reading this, please picture the Javert from the 1998 movie. He's played by Geoffrey Rush and the main reason I'm writing this drabble is because I found out that after Geoffrey Rush played Javert, he then went on to play Captain Barbossa in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Thank you all for the reviews and have a good weekend! I'll see you all on Monday.

Verse: Modern Day!Verse where Javert and Valjean are raising Cosette. See Chapter Six for more details.

Word Count: 972

* * *

**Come home as soon as possible, **the text that started it all read, **Cosette has Chicken Pox.**

The poor girl was lying on the couch, bundled in more blankets than Javert had thought they had. Even then she was shivering. She seemed to be suffering but not nearly as much as Jean Valjean.

In the thirty minutes between the text and Javert arriving home, Valjean had managed to work himself into a state of utter panic. This wasn't improved by the warning he had received from the doctors. Between his ramblings about 'going after' the kids that had given Cosette the illness and his worries about her fever, he confessed to Javert that he couldn't remember if he had ever had the Chicken Pox.

"Do you know if you ever had the vaccine?" Javert asked, his demeanor as calm and collected as it usually was. Nothing good came from panicking.

"I don't think I ever did," He said. He constantly shot looks into the living room where Cosette could be heard coughing. "I didn't grow up in the richest household. What about you?"

"I had to get the vaccines when I entered the service but it was a waste of time. I had it when I was a kid."

"You'll be fine then, thank goodness."

"Is she very sick?'

"They tell me no more than the average child with Chicken Pox but she's not herself at all! She must be very sick."

Valjean's panic was understandable. While they had taken care of Cosette for a few years now, she had never had an illness like this before.

By the next day, Valjean's panic had only increased. Due to him calling in so late, his boss was making him go in for a few hours. And because luck was never on Javert's side when it came to things like this, it was his day off.

"I'll have my phone on all day!" Valjean cried as he left. He was almost in a frenzy. "Just call if you need anything."

"Relax," Javert said, trying to be as comforting as possible. However, it came out as an order and Valjean simply looked more worried. He tried to switch tactics. "I've been on the force for quite some time. I can take care of a little girl."

He hoped that Valjean didn't hear him curse when he walked back into the living room and found Cosette gone.

He ran through the house, peering in every nook and cranny a small child could hide in. "Cosette!" He yelled.

He heard a giggle behind him and the sound of somebody running away. Even when sick, the child was still able to appear and disappear at will.

It took another five minutes but Javert found her in the laundry room. A few days prior, Valjean had bought a swing set for her. Due to the rain, the parts were currently lying disassembled in the backyard but Cosette didn't seem to mind. Like most children, she had found that the box was much more fun. Because she hadn't been able to go out and play in a few days, she had dragged a number of other boxes into the laundry room and had managed to build quite the fort.

She was sitting on top of the dryer with a pile of boxes surrounding her and a familiar hat on her head. She grinned at him as she pushed his dress uniform hat out of her eyes.

"Argh." She said, giggling.

"How did you get that? It's up in the closet." Javert responded.

"I raided it. I needed a hat to protect me bounty." Oh GOD. She was going through another _phase. _Javert shuddered. The last _phase _had lasted several weeks and Cosette had wandered around with a magic wand and a princess tiara, proclaiming herself 'Cosette, High Fairy of Bread". And before that, she decided she wanted to be a hockey star. And before that, she wanted to be a business tycoon.

This was much worse. She wanted to be a _criminal._

"I'm a pirate. I want to be a pirate when I grow up." Cosette said smugly.

"No," Javert said firmly. "No, you don't. Pirates are international criminals who are vilified by all."

"Pirates are in all the Disney movies. Pirates have fun and go on adventures with the Muppets. I want to be a pirate."

"You'll break my heart if you become a pirate. Come down from there and I'll make you soup." Perhaps Cosette was upset about her dreams being denied or simply because she remembered the last 'Soup Incident' but whatever scared her, it was enough for her to jump into the pile of boxes.

"Come out of there!" Javert yelled, wading into the pile. Where the hell had she gotten all of these?! They didn't even keep boxes around!

"No! I want to be a pirate and I want you to play with me!"

"Pirates are _criminals_!"

"Pirates are _fun_!"

A few hours later, Jean Valjean came home and began to panic when he found no sign of his daughter and lover. He ran through the house, calling out but he stopped short when he walked into the laundry room.

Cosette was spinning around, waving a sword (stick in the air). On her head, she was wearing one of Javert's many hats. Next to her was Javert himself, who also seemed to have a sword.

"First Mate Inspector!" She yelled, pointing and Valjean. "Look! It's the Kraken! We must take evasive maneuvers!"

"I'm a little busy at the moment, oh Captain Cosette!" He responded.

Valjean had many memories that he treasured and many that he shared with Javert. But whenever he had to wear his dress uniform for something or other, Valjean could never resist leaning over and muttered 'Argh'.

Javert, of course, denied everything.


	9. 46 Family

AN- I'm just really in love with this verse and these two idiots being fathers. (I say that quite affectionately) I promise I'll write a different drabble tomorrow.

Verse: The AU where Javert and Jean Valjean are raising Cosette. See Chapters Six and Eight.

Word Count: 1,118

* * *

He was out buying milk when he met her.

The little girl was looking up at the freezer containing frozen pizzas of all things. She looked down at her list, furrowed her brow, and looked back up at the freezer. Jean Valjean had seen children dressed like her before. She was clearly from the local orphanage though he had never seen a child as shabby as she looked. She walked away from the freezer, took a deep breath, and spun around, running at full speed. With a grunt, she jumped and found herself gripping the handle. Her feet were dangling a good two inches off the ground.

Valjean looked left and right. There was nobody else in sight. Clearly this child was alone. "Child, are you alright?"

The little girl looked at them and he realized she was sporting several bruises. "Me, sir?"

He smiled kindly. "Yes, you. Do you need any help?"

The girl swung there pathetically for a few seconds and then dropped down, landing on her feet. She stared at Valjean suspiciously for a moment and then walked over unsteadily. She held up a list.

"Can you help me find these things, sir?"

"Of course," He scanned the list. Frozen pizzas weren't on there at all. He furrowed his brow. Who sent a child that obviously couldn't read to the store? "According to the list, you need bread, milk, fruit, vegetables, and meat."

The little girl nodded and started off in the direction of the bread.

After a little while, the little girl warmed up to him and shyly began to tell him about herself. Her name was Cosette (or at least, that's what they called her) and she lived in the orphanage on the outskirts of town. She was in charge of the shopping as well as the cleaning. She lived with a number of other children in a small room and all she really wanted for Christmas was the doll in the window.

After he had made his purchases, he helped Cosette take the bags back to the orphanage. At this point, she was all but swinging off his arm. Valjean was troubled. What sort of life could this child be living if a stranger showed her the most affection she had apparently had in a while.

She clearly didn't want to go inside and when she finally knocked on the door, she was ushered in by a screaming woman. Cosette looked over her shoulder and sadly waved.

Valjean felt his heart break.

* * *

"What do you know about the orphanage?"

Javert raised an eyebrow. "A little. It's run by a man and his wife and it's overpopulated. The neighbors are constantly calling in to report domestic disturbances."

"How is this dealt with?" Valjean asked, capturing one of Javert's pawns who then in turn captured his bishop.

"We break up the fight but neither one of the couple ever presses charges. To tell you the truth, I think they enjoy fighting."

"Imagine that," Valjean muttered and with a flick of his wrist, he had Javert's king cornered. "Checkmate."

Javert simply reset the board. "Why do you ask?"

"I met a child from the orphanage today," He started. "They sent her out alone to buy the groceries."

"Did you?"

"Yes," He responded, moving his pawn forward. "The poor thing was almost scared to death."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Javert's pawn took his. "I know what you're thinking. You're already planning on adopting her because you feel sorry for her. Well don't. What would we do with a child? Besides, she's in there for a reason. "

Valjean felt like firing back 'Said the man who was raised in one of those places' but he knew he would be spending a long week on the couch if he did. Instead, he fell silent, pushing the pieces on the board into place.

* * *

There was a knock at the door.

"Can you get that?" Valjean called from the kitchen. Javert stared at the door suspiciously. One doesn't work as long as he had in the field he did with ought developing a paranoid streak. In the time it took him to leave his study and walk to the front door, Javert had developed six different scenarios in his head and eight different ways to combat those scenarios.

A little girl with the largest, saddest eyes he had ever seen was not one of those scenarios.

"Is it Girl Scout cookie time already?" He remarked mildly. "Well, I'm sorry but we're not interested."

"I'm…I'm not a Girl Scout." The girl said, terrified by his height.

"Is it Halloween?"

"No sir. I've come to see Pere Madeline."

"Oh," He walked into the house, grabbing his newspaper as he walked past. "It's for you."

"Huh? Who wants to see me?" He said, walking to the door. "Oh! Cosette! What brings you here."

"Hello Pere Madeline," She said and she seemed to cheer up. "I have a letter from the master. He sends his regards."

"Thank you Cosette. Would you like to come in?"

Javert wasn't a difficult man. He worked all week and on his one day off, he liked to be let be with his newspaper and his lover. Now all he had was the newspaper and he now had a small child staring at him.

He lowered the paper. "What."

The girl flinched but held her gaze. He had to give her credit. Most children would have run screaming by now.

"Can I help you…?"

"I am called Cosette. My mother called me that." She said quietly.

"Ah."

There was a moment of silence and then Cosette spoke rapidly. "But she died."

"Oh." Damn, why was she telling him this!? He wasn't any good at this. Couldn't she just-.

"I shall walk you back to the orphanage," Jean Valjean said as he walked into the room. Javert glanced at him and knew there would be trouble. Valjean was not an overly expressive man, especially if he was angered. But Javert could tell by his clenched fists and clenched jaw that he was really mad. "I will speak to the master myself."

They left and Javert returned to his newspaper, bracing himself for the inevitable. Sure enough, Cosette returned with Valjean, the doll she had admired in her arms. "What shall I call her?"

"Whatever you want." Valjean responded with a smile. Cosette looked up at him.

"What shall I call you?" He thought for a moment.

"What do you want to call me?"

"Papa," She looked at Javert the way one would observe a wild animal. "And what do I call him?"

"Inspector."

"Father."

"Valjean-!"

"Yes," Valjean said with a look that discouraged further argument. "That shall suffice."


	10. 67 Playing the Melody

AN- I'm tired so this is short. I have to go write a lab report. Ugh. I'm in a bad mood so have some drunk!Marius singing the Beatles.

Verse: Modern Day

Word Count: 442

* * *

_Thwack._

"Oh my god, it _is _a burglar!" The girl screamed and threw herself on top of Cosette.

_Thwack._

"What type of burglar throws rocks?" Cosette asked, her fingers wrapped around the baseball bat her father made her take.

_Thwack._

"They could be trying to figure out if we're home!" The other girl cried. Cosette shook her head and shoved the girl off her. She got on her hands and knees, quietly creeping over to the window. She yanked the curtains back, flung open the window, and stood framed by light, waving her bat in the air.

"Marius!" She hissed. "What do you think you're doing!?"

Marius grinned sheepishly and threw the pebbles in his fist into the garden. He waved up at her and looked over into the bushes. There was a rustle and three figures came out of the garden. The first was a young, brown haired man with a flower crown and a violin. He smiled kindly at her. The second was a spectacled man who clearly didn't want to be here. He waved up at her and Cosette recognized him as Marius's roommate Courfeyrac. The third figure stumbled into the light and Cosette found herself looking at the ugliest man she had ever seen. His black hair stuck out everywhere and when he got to his uncertain feet, Cosette knew he was drunk. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and went back into the bushes, returning with a guitar. He thrust the guitar into the drunk man's hands and stepped back into the shadows to watch.

Marius stepped forward and nodded at the two. The black haired man strummed his guitar and the brown haired man tuned his violin. They nodded back.

Marius smiled and the two started to play a song. "Oh I'll tell you something. I think you'll understand…"

Cosette blushed as she recognized the song. "When I say that something: I wanna hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand! I wanna hold your hand."

Cosette pulled out her phone and sent a text to Courfeyrac discreetly: "Are they all drunk?"

His response came just as Marius was singing the second verse. "Yes. Well, two of them. Jehan isn't. Jehan simply loves love."

"Oh my." She whispered.

"Oh please, say to meeeeee, you'll let me hold your HAND!" Marius cried. He had already sang this verse but he didn't seem to care. The other two didn't even skip a beat. In fact, the drunk man seemed to be more adept at playing than he was at standing.

Cosette shrugged and pulled herself up on the window ledge. Might as well enjoy it. It was sweet, after all.


	11. 43 Dying

AN- What have I done, sweet Jesus what have I done? *builds herself a barricade so she can hide from angry E/R fans*

This will be a story in a few parts. Maybe until Friday, even. This story just hit me today and I had to write it. This part is mostly back story, it will pick up tomorrow.

A word of warning, there is a trial scene here with a criminal who is rather flippant about what happens to a character. There is nothing overly graphic (at least in my opinion). However, if this is a trigger to some readers, you might not want to read it. I don't want to trigger anyone.

I also really like Bahorel, okay.

Verse: Brick!Verse mostly with some Musical!Verse

Word Count: 1,172

* * *

"OUT!" Enjolras bellowed. Grantaire's head shot up. A few moments before he had been unconscious on the bar counter. Now he was all too sober.

"What?" He asked.

"You heard me," Enjolras cried. "I've reached the end of my rope. I have had it. I want you out!"

The café had gone silent. Conversations stopped dead in their tracks. All eyes were on Enjolras and Grantaire. Nobody even dared to breath.

"I…I don't…" Grantaire started.

"You come here every meeting and drink yourself stupid. Oh, I'm sorry," Enjolras's eyes flashed. "I really should say 'stupider'. You complain and mope and defame out cause and I am sick of it. I have had it, Grantaire! Get out now!"

Grantaire remained in his spot, too stunned to speak.

"Did you not hear me, wine cask!? Out, out, out!" Enjolras yelled, consumed with rage. "I want you gone!"

Being called a name, especially by Enjolras, seemed to shock Grantaire out of his stupor. He got to his feet and all but ran out of the café, the door slamming on his way out.

Enjolras stood there in the middle of the room, trembling with anger. All he could see was red. After a few minutes, he walked over to his table and sat down.

"Now Combeferre," He said with a restrained voice. He was trying to be polite. "What was that you were saying?"

* * *

"He's always been capable of being terrible," Bahorel said conversationally. He took a swig from his bottle and continued. "I've seen him angry before."

"But never like THAT," Courfeyrac responded thoughtfully. "_I've_ never seen him like that at least."

"Well, we all know what he thinks of R. Maybe it was just a breaking point." Joly mused.

Jehan shot a nervous look across the café. The table in the corner remained empty. Two days had passed since the incident in the bar and nobody had even seen Grantaire.

"Don't worry," Bossuet said good naturedly. "I'm sure Grantaire will be back soon."

"Yeah!" Bahorel said. "He probably drank himself into an oblivion after that, but he'll come to soon and then come back. Probably won't even remember what happened. Look, Enjolras has cooled off! Everything will be fine."

And he spoke the truth. Enjolras had lost the angered look he had sported ever since the incident. He was now his same, calm self.

Enjolras was about to address the group when they heard the door open. "Courfeyrac, go see who it is." Bahorel winked conspiratorially at his table with an expression that read 'what did I tell you?'

Courfeyrac entered the room with a young woman. She was quite ugly, with a large nose and a crooked mouth that looked very familiar. She twisted her large hands nervously. The group noted that she must have lost somebody close to her, as she was dressed in very deep mourning.

"Hello," Enjolras said as pleasantly as possible. "How may we help you?"

"Are you the Friends of the ABC Society?"

"Yes we are."

She wrung her hands. "Forgive me sir, I was wondering if I may ask you some questions."

"Of course. May I ask your name?"

"I'm Eleanor, sir. Eleanor Grantaire."

Enjolras's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh? I'm Enjolras"

"Oh," She narrowed her eyes and everyone got the distinct feeling she didn't like him. "Then you will be able to ask my questions. What time did my brother leave here the other night?"

"It was about eight," Courfeyrac said kindly. "Why do you ask?"

She looked at Enjolras with a look that could freeze water. "I am trying to discern something."

"And that would be?" Courfeyrac enquired.

She took a deep breath and everyone noticed there were tears in her eyes. "My brother's last steps."

* * *

"The facts are this," The prosecutor said, turning around to face the man on trial. "A week ago, you were lurking down the street from the café in question. Do you deny this?"

"No sir." The man responded.

"You had several debts to pay, didn't you. You were all out of money, were you not?"

"Yes."

"So what did you do?"

The man looked at the prosecutor with unrepentant eyes. "I decided I needed to get some."

"So you lurked down the street with a knife. It was your last worldly possession. You waited. And then you saw your chance, didn't you."

"Yes."

"A man drunk. A man defenseless. A man who was all alone. You saw that he had a little money on him. What did you do?"

"I took my chance."

"And did you, or did you not," The prosecutor said. "Beat Nicholas Grantaire almost to the point of death."

"I did."

"And then did you stab him five times?"

The man leaned forward, an evil grin on his face. "And then I slit his throat for good measure."

The prosecutor grimaced. He could feel the horror projected at the man. "No further questions, Your Honor."

* * *

It had rained ever since the trial. Dark clouds had covered the sky and had poured down nonstop.

The group sat around the café. They all huddled together at one table and nobody could bring themselves to look at the table in the corner. They simply sat in silence.

Finally, Jehan broke it. "Do…do we know if there's going to be a funeral?" He sounded like he had been crying.

Bahorel nodded. "I was talking to his sister. They're just waiting for the trial to be finished. They can get…the body back then."

Enjolras said nothing.

"I just can't believe it," Feuilly said. "How could it just…end like that for him? He was a boxer. He was tough. He was…," He sniffled. "He was Grantaire."

"Did you see the way that monster was sitting?" Joly asked. "Did you see how he was holding himself? He was defiantly sore and he looked a sight. R went down fighting."

A ghost of a smile flickered over his face.

Enjolras said nothing.

Bossuet stood. "I think we should go home. I got his sister's address. I'm going to go see her. I'll figure out where the funeral is and when."

Nobody wanted to stick around. They were all simply waiting for somebody to leave. Soon enough, it was just Enjolras and Courfeyrac.

"Enjolras?" Courfeyrac said. He didn't seem to hear him. "We're leaving. We'll come back tomorrow if you wanted to hold a meeting.

Enjolras didn't say anything. He had been sitting with his back to the group. Courfeyrac placed a hand on his shoulder. Enjolras turned around and to Courfeyrac's shock, he could make out tear tracks on his face.

"I only found out his name at the trial for his murderer," He said and his voice hitched. "I never even bothered to learn his name.

Courfeyrac couldn't even imagine what must be going through Enjolras's mind right now but he wrapped his arms around his shoulder and hugged him as tightly as he could.

And the leader in red cried as the world outside them mourned with him.


	12. Gavroche

AN- This was originally going to be E/R angst at Grantaire's funeral but one of my reviewers requested a story with Gavroche so…this happened. I like it, to be honest, but tell me what you think. It doesn't follow one of the 100 prompts and I still need to get a grasp on Gavroche's character but…eh. Also, just ignore the fact Gavroche shouldn't have 'his kids' yet in the story. I just wanted to write them interacting.

Tomorrow will be the funeral scene.

Verse: Book!Verse with some Musical!Verse.

Word Count: 1,104

* * *

Gavroche, more often than not, could be found running. He ran from one side of Paris to the other. Sometimes he would deliver messages, others he would be looking for his next meal. Mostly though, he simply enjoyed running.

So it wasn't much of a surprise when he literally ran into somebody.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" He cried. He could here his kids behind him giggling. He glared at them and then turned to glare at the man who had gotten in his way. However, his glare turned into a smile as soon as he laid eyes on the man. "Oi, it's you! Hell Grantaire, I haven't seen you around in a while."

The man smiled weakly. "Sorry about that, Gavroche. Let me give you a hand."

"About time," Gavroche grumbled good naturedly and accepted Grantaire's extended hand. "Bloody hell, Grantaire! Your hand is freezing!"

Gavroche stepped back and took a good look at Grantaire. He was dressed rather oddly, in a nice black suit. His hair was actually brushed for once. "You sick?" He asked, as Grantaire was quite pale, with dark circles under his eyes.

"No, I'm fine," He responded. "Listen, have you seen Enjolras?"

"Nah," Gavroche responded. "Me and the kids have been busy working. I haven't had a chance to pop in and visit him. Perhaps later. Yeah, you know what, I think I'll go see him next."

"Hey Gavroche," Grantaire said suddenly. "Could you do me a favor before you go see him?"

"Sure," Gavroche replied. "For you, I'll even do it for free! What do you need?"

"Could you go to my house and give my sister a message? I think she should be there."

Gavroche nodded. "What is it?"

"Tell her that…tell her that R said it's behind the most recent painting."

"Alright!" Gavroche started off towards Grantaire house, but he turned around. "Say, you okay? You seem a bit…odd."

Grantaire looked back at him and sighed loudly. "I've…I've been better Gavroche. Thank you." He turned and walked away into the crowd.

"Odd sort of fellow," Gavroche said and turned to the boys behind him. "Let's go see his sister. I wonder what the lady looks like. Hopefully nothing like the brother."

"Yes Gavroche." They both chimed and followed the boy as he took off running.

It didn't take him long to get to Grantaire's house. He stared up at it for a moment, stunned, and then turned to the kids. "Do ya think he knows everyone's taking his stuff?" Movers were swarming all over the apartment building, taking things and piling them on the cab. Most of it appeared to be battered furniture but there was many canvases as well. Gavroche walked over to the cab and took a canvas from the bottom of the pile.

"Huh," Gavroche remarked. He would have stroked a beard if he had one. "Not bad. Not bad at all." In just a few strokes of a brush, he had captured Joly's likeness perfectly, down to him rubbing his cane on his nose.

"Hey!"

Gavroche looked up and saw a woman in mourning come barreling down on him.

"What do you think you're doing with that!?" She cried. Gavroche put the painting back on the pile.

"Just looking, Miss Ugly."

"Screw you," She remarked pleasantly. "You must be Gavroche. My brother often spoke of you."

"You must be the sister," Gavroche said thoughtfully. "There's certainly a resemblance."

"Can I help you with something?" She asked. Gavroche wondered if he should ask why she was removing things from Grantaire's apartment but he thought better of it. Instead, he held out a dirty hand.

"I have a message for you. You have money for me."

"I can see why Nicholas was friends with you…" She whispered as she reached into her pockets and pulled out some coins. She pressed them into Gavroche's hand and he grinned.

"Don't see why you said that. Me and Grantaire are still friends. Besides, he told me to tell you that 'R says it's behind most recent painting'. Whatever that means and- Hey? You okay?"

The girls face had gone from amused to horrified in a few seconds. All the color had drained from her face and she stood there, staring at Gavroche and he at her. The silence was unbearable for a few moments and then she burst into tears and ran into the house.

Gavroche stared after her for a few moments and then turned to his kids. "Women," He shrugged. "What are you going to do? Let's go to the café, hey? Maybe we can ask Grantaire what the hell is wrong with his sister."

When they arrived, they found a sadder scene than the one they had left. The ABC Society was there, but they were all dressed in dark clothes and they all seemed depressed. "Gosh," Gavroche said, looking around in shock as he walked in. "What a sorry state. What's wrong with all of you?"

Courfeyrac spun around, mouth agape. "Gavroche! What are you doing here?"

"Had to run some errands for money," He responded. "Now I'm back. Why do you all look so upset. You all look like somebody died!"

Everyone winced simultaneously. "What?" Gavroche asked. "Wait, did somebody die?"

Courfeyrac looked at Bahorel, who was closet to him. "You better tell him," Bahorel said, his voice reserved. "He'll find out sooner or later. They were close, after all, he might want to go to the funeral tomorrow."

"Who's funeral? You guys are starting to worry me!"

"Sit down, Gavroche." Bahorel said. Gavroche did.

Courfeyrac pulled up a chair. "I'm so sorry you had to find out this way, Gavroche. We tried to find you, but we couldn't," He took a deep breath. "Gavroche, Grantaire was murdered a few days ago."

Gavroche stared at him. "No. No he wasn't."

"Gavroche-."

"No!" Gavroche said, leaping to his feet. "No! I SAW him today! I talked to Grantaire not too long ago! I went to his sister's house to deliver a message! He's not dead! How…how could he be dead?"

Everybody was focused on the urchin who was trying hard not to break down from a combination of grief and confusion. They had been at the trial. They had talked to his sister. The fact of the matter was that Grantaire was dead and there was nothing that could change that.

They were so focused on these things that nobody noticed that there was a feeling of being watched coming from Grantaire's table in the corner and they all blamed the rain of the sudden cold wind that blew through the room.


	13. 4 Dark

AN- Part three of the Ghost!Taire saga. This piece is just straight up Enjolras angst. I feel like I haven't really gotten his character down yet…

Next week, we will see an actual appearance of Ghost!Taire. Till then, have a good weekend!

Verse: Book!Verse with a little Musical!Verse.

Word Count: 1,025

* * *

"Well," Marius started, licking his lips nervously. "R never really wrote a will, I mean, he did. It was never notarized or anything and…to be honest, I wonder why he had one in the first place," Marius laughed nervously. Grantaire's sister glared and he started to speak rapidly. "But because I have some law experience, Miss Grantaire asked me to read the will."

Marius pulled out a tattered, dirty piece of paper and began to read. "I, Nicholas Grantaire, of unsound mind and a alcoholic body hereby leave all my stuff to the following people. Bahorel can have my boxing stuff, if he so wishes. I have some books left from my classes and if Combeferre would like that, then hell if I care. Other than that, I request that all my friends take something, anything they want. The rest of my stuff goes to fund my sister in whatever she needs. And that's all I've got."

Marius smiled sadly and folded up the paper. His sister spoke up. "He didn't have much, but what's left is upstairs. I feel it's only best to respect his wishes. Please, take what you wish."

The Amis filed up the stairs dutifully and found themselves staring at all of Grantaire's worldly possessions. A few torn, tattered books lay next to some broken furniture but what really got their attentions was the paintings. They covered almost all the surfaces and depicted many different subjects.

Enjolras found his eyes drawn to an unfinished canvas with a splash of red. He got down on his knees and pulled the other canvases out of the way. He held the painting in his hands and suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"That was his latest one." His sister said quietly. Enjolras found himself staring down at his own face, captured in a just a few strokes of a pencil. The only color that had been added was the red in his vest but already, it looked more like a reflection than a painting.

"I think he would have wanted you to have that one." She continued and Enjolras realized that he had pressed the painting to his chest.

* * *

He isn't quite sure how he wound up here but here he is: Enjolras is attending the wake of a man who he detested in life and continues to be confused by in death.

"Our father hated him," His sister had said. "And our mother has been dead for years. He was particularly close to you. Would you mind sitting up for the wake?"

He knocks on the door of the funeral home and she's there in seconds. "Hello Mr. Enjolras," She said, opening the door to let him in. "Thank you for doing this with me. I…don't think I could do it alone."

"It is the least I could do." Enjolras says but he knows this will possibly be one of the hardest things he's ever done. She fixes him with an all too familiar look and walks into a ill-lit room.

Enjolras braced himself the very best he could but he couldn't have prepared himself for what he found himself face to face with. Grantaire was lying in a plain coffin, dressed in clothes far nicer than he had ever worn in life. His face was void of color and his neat, dark hair only made him look paler. He was covered in bruises and though the undertaker had done the best he could with what little he was given, Enjolras could see a few of the wounds that had been inflicted on him.

He felt his legs trembling and he forced himself into a chair. He just couldn't get over how…_gone _he looked. The last funeral he had been to was his grandmother and she had simply looked asleep. She had looked peaceful. Here, there was no denying that Grantaire was truly dead and he looked tortured even in death. There was nothing peaceful about him.

Enjolras felt an unfamiliar feeling well up in his chest and an unfamiliar burning sensation behind his eyes.

He sat there for silence for hours. He had never liked the idea of a wake. 'To wake' was to wake up and there was no way Grantaire was going to wake up. He supposed it was supposed to bring comfort to family members and friends but Enjolras couldn't find anything comforting about staring at a dead body all night.

It was around one in the morning when Grantaire's sister broke the silence. "He loved you."

Enjolras, who had been half asleep, jolted awake in his seat. "What?"

"You heard me," She said, looking forward. "He was in love with you."

"I…I don't…"

"Tell me you saw it, for his sake at least," She turned and looked at him. "You have no idea how many paintings I found that were inspired by you. He believed in nothing but a full glass and yet, he stayed. He was head over heels in love with you…and now that I look at you, I know you didn't see it."

Enjolras had no response. He found himself thinking of the painting. The very last painting Grantaire had ever done was of him. Why was he so fascinated by him? It wasn't like Enjolras had ever treated Grantaire well. Almost every meeting ended with Grantaire making a stupid comment and Enjolras picking it apart. And yet…he had stayed.

"My poor brother…" She whispered and turned back to the coffin. "You know, I told you about his feelings now for a reason. He isn't buried yet, see? He can't spin in his grave."

She laughed a familiar laugh that morphed into a heartbreaking sob. Enjolras remained silent, thinking about every instance he had interacted with Grantaire, trying to figure out how it had led up to this.

He went home at sunrise and slept badly for two hours. When he awoke, he brushed his hair, changed, and went to the funeral. He was so upset he didn't notice that there was a sudden change in his now finished painting and he didn't bother to figure out why his apartment was suddenly so cold.


	14. 12 Insanity

AN- This was going to be a lot longer with an actual appearance from Enjolras, but then I had a horrible day and I really can't write a whole lot right now. So I'm just going to eat some Cheetos and watch some Dancing with the Stars. I also love Bahorel.

Verse: Book!Verse with a little Musical!Verse.

Word Count: 767

* * *

"Has anyone seen Enjolras?"

Everyone in the café looked up as Courfeyrac entered the room. "No, can't say I have," Bahorel said and the look of concern on Courfeyrac grew more pronounced.

"I haven't heard from him in over two days. He's been so distant since the incident. He may have not gotten along with R but he was still one of the group. Enjolras was bound to take loosing somebody hard but not hard enough to disappear."

"Throw some more logs on the fire Bossuet," Joly said offhandedly. "It's freezing in here."

Bossuet complied, stabbing at the fire with the poker. "Look, he's probably off following some sort of lead. If he's still missing by tomorrow, we'll go looking for him."

"I'm not so sure we should do that again." Combeferre interjected and everyone was sobered by the implications.

"Alright," Bahorel finally said. "Joly, Bossuet, and I will go look around his apartment."

"That sounds good," Courfeyrac responded. "Combeferre, Jehan, and I will go look near the university. I wish Feuilly wasn't working, he would have been an extra pair of eyes-."

Whatever Courfeyrac was about to say was cut off by the door flying open. Gavroche tumbled into the room. "Hello all!" He said with a small wave.

"Hello Gavroche." They all responded.

"How are all of you?"

"We've been better. Have you seen Enjolras around lately?"

"No, I haven't-." Gavroche started to say but he trailed off. His eyes focused on something behind Combeferre, widening in shock. His mouth went slack and his skin grew pale. In short, he looked utterly horrified.

"Gavroche?" Courfeyrac started. "Gavroche!?" He spun around. Gavroche's eyes were focused on the table in the corner, which had been abandoned for some time.

"No. This isn't happening," Gavroche said, sounding as horrified as he looked. "This can't be happening. I saw him. I saw the body."

"Gavroche?" Bahorel put a hand on his shoulder and it seemed to startle the boy. He looked up at Bahorel, then back at the table, and then he ran out of the room, Bahorel following him.

Bahorel found him in the kitchen, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. "I'm not crazy, I know I'm not crazy. I mean, I have seen some crazy things but this is…maybe I am mad."

"Gavroche?"

Gavroche looked up at Bahorel and he could see the panic in Gavroche's face. "Please tell me you see him."

"I don't know what you mean, Gavroche. Maybe you should go home."

"No! I saw him! He's over there at the table. He's at the table he's always at! I know what I saw!"

"What did you see!?" Bahorel cried, utterly exasperated.

"I…I saw Grantaire."

"Grantaire is dead, Gavroche."

"I know. That's why I'm so worried. I know I don't belong in an asylum but when I'm seeing a dead man everywhere, I start to worry, y'know!"

"Don't worry Gavroche. There's no such thing as ghosts." Bahorel responded, putting his hand down on the table next to him. However, it appeared that the luck of Bossuet was with him and the lantern that was lighting the room fell over, plunging the room into darkness.

"Ah!"

"Good work."

"Shut up Gavroche," Bahorel grumbled, his previous kindness forgotten as he stumbled around in the dark. "Aha! Here's the lantern. Let me just light this…"

A small flame flickered to life and the lantern began to give off shaky light. "See, good as new…Gavroche?"

In the dim light, he could make out Gavroche's expression and it was even more horrified than before. "Gavroche, why are you making that face?"

Bahorel realized that it was freezing in the kitchen and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. As he started to shiver, a voice spoke behind him.

"Bahorel."

* * *

Of all the things Courfeyrac expected to happen while Bahorel calmed Gavroche down, both of them running out of the kitchen screaming in utter terror was not one of them.

"What the HELL is wrong with you two!?" Combeferre asked, turning to look at the pair but, catching sight of the expressions of the other group members, he spun around to face the kitchen door.

He was standing there, looking somewhat similar to the way he had when he left the café. His skin was chalk white, with dark circles under his slightly unfocused eyes. Dark stains covered his disheveled clothes and when he moved, he seemed to be in a lot of pain.

Grantaire blinked a few times, managed to get his bearings, and spoke in a whispery voice. "Where is Enjolras?"


	15. 3 Light

AN- So tired and I have to take a retest tomorrow. So nothing too long for today. This is where Enjolras was last drabble. I'm foreseeing this whole story arc ending on Thursday. Then it's back to our regularly scheduled programming of randomness.

Ugh, I don't like this at all.

Verse: Brick!Verse with some Musical!Verse

Word Count: 576

* * *

Meanwhile, across Paris, Enjolras was just coming to.

His head was swimming and he could feel bruises forming along his face. He tried to move and found that he was tied down and that his leg was broken. He bit back a grimace and tried to open his eyes. To his surprise, he discovered he was blindfolded.

"Hey, I think he's waking up!"

"Really?" A voice that was vaguely familiar to Enjolras hissed from somewhere behind him. "How interesting."

"Citizen," Enjolras said calmly. "I would like an explanation."

"Oh, of course," The man said. "That's understandable. You see, we've already met. I was in court recently and you were there. I suppose you could call me an acquaintance of your friend Grantaire."

Pure rage rose in Enjolras and it was all he could do to keep from snarling out a response. "You!"

"Yes, me," He responded easily. "And if you wouldn't mind, I'd prefer the _'vous'_ form. More respectful, see. And you really aren't in a position to complain."

"You were arrested."

"I wasn't interested in getting executed," The man said easily. "I've seen guillotining, see. So I escaped."

"What do you want with me?"

The man spoke and Enjolras could hear the smirk in his voice. "You played a part in the trial."

He had. Enjolras had briefly given evidence. A description of Grantaire, his life and habits. While others had certainly known him better, he was the only one who had wanted to speak.

"I did."

"You helped put me away," There was a pressure on his broken leg. Enjolras bit back a cry. "You could say I want revenge."

"Are you expecting to torture me?" Enjolras responded mockingly. "Do you want me to scream and cry like a child? You'll never break me."

"Oh, I know that," The man responded and Enjolras heard a gun being cocked. "That's why I'm going to kill you now."

"Sir," Another voice suddenly said, worriedly. "What's that noise?"

Everyone strained their ears, including Enjolras. There was a steady thumping noise coming from outside the door.

"I think somebody's coming upstairs." A third voice said nervously.

"Go check." The murderer said. Enjolras heard somebody walking towards the door.

"Hey boss," The third voice said and Enjolras could tell he was attempting to sound at ease. "After you kill this blonde 'god'," He said the word mockingly. "Can we leave? It's FREEZING in here."

Indeed it was. The temperature had been steadily dropping since Enjolras had come to. The murderer was about to speak when there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" The third voice called out. Were he not so focused, Enjolras would have snorted. What an idiot.

There was a moment of silence and then a low, rough voice responded: "The French Revolution."

"What?" The murderer said and Enjolras heard the door open. There was a moment of absolute silence which was broken by a scream. Somebody crashed into the wall behind Enjolras and there was the sound of glass breaking. Somebody groaned and cursed.

"How…?" The murderer whimpered, all the bravery long vanished. "This isn't happening."

A body crashed into the wall next to Enjolras again but this time, the space next to Enjolras grew absolutely freezing.

"That's funny," A familiar voice hissed, the tone as cold as the air. "Those are the last words that went through my head before you slit my throat."

There was a crash and that was all.


	16. 16 Questioning

AN- Alright, here's the deal. I had a bit of a family emergency today. It ended up not being as bad as I imagined and everybody's fine right now, but I don't really want to write something as wrought with death and angst as the Ghost!Taire story right now. It will resume tomorrow (I hope) so for now, have a domestic rules story for Valvert.

Also, don't read my French. I can't compose in the future tense just yet. Translated to the best of my ability at the bottom of the story.

Verse: Modern day!AU where Javert and Valjean are raising Cosette together. See chapters six, eight, and nine

Word Count: 348

* * *

Because Javert worked night shift more often than not and because both Valjean and Javert had odd days off, they had always found it easier to leave notes to one another on a whiteboard they left on the fridge. After Cosette came into the picture, Javert had, in a frenzy where he was trying to reclaim his 'normal life', had written a series of rules on the whiteboard. As Cosette had grown older and learned to write, the list had only lengthened in size.

1. Do not go into the study without permission.

2. Do not bother me when working.

3. All messes must be cleaned up as soon as the person is done with the objects in question.

4. Buy milk.

5. Number five is not a rule. Non-rules are prohibited on the list.

6. All milk must be replaced as soon as run out.

Number seven was a series of scribbles.

8. That's adorable.

9. That is not a rule. That is a child's scribbling.

10. The above is not a rule. Non-rules are prohibited.

11. After eleven, there is to be no movies.

12. No James Bond. Ever.

13. Never again.

14. Cosette is to be supervised in the garden at all times. I think I speak for the household when I say we don't want a repeat of the 'puppy' incident.

15. No pets are allowed.

16. Friendly reminder that rule six hasn't been acted on.

17. Cosette n'est stupide pas. Je parle avec tu, Javert, sur Père Noel ultérieurement.*

18. Why are you all speaking French?

19. I'll tell you when you're older.

20. Mon Dieu, nous avons descendre dans l'anarchie!*

21. Javert is not allowed to go 'swimming' when nobody is home.

28. Cosette is to be given candy.

29. Cosette can have candy when she learns to count.

For a while, things continued in this form until finally, number forty two was posted.

42. The Rules Board is competently disbanded.

*Cosette is not stupid. I (will) speak with you, Javert, about Father Christmas later.

*My God, we have descended into anarchy!


	17. 84 Out Cold

AN- I have a bit of a head canon that Enjolras only curses when he's under a lot of stress. Due to more reasons, I didn't get much time to write today. So…this is split into two chapters. Tomorrow's will be MUCH longer and wrap up this whole story arc.

I'm really sorry about the shortness guys, but thanks for understanding.

Verse: Book!Verse with some Musical!Verse.

Word Count: 408

* * *

The silence surrounded Enjolras. From what he could gather, the gang members had been knocked out and it was just him and this…Enjolras wasn't sure what to call him. He knew what he had heard but he couldn't have heard it right. There was no way he had heard what he had heard. His hearing must be acting up. Perhaps he needed to stop yelling so much because holy shit he could have sworn he heard Grantaire's voice. Had he gone mad? Yes, that was probably it. He must have sustained a head injury during the fight. His hearing must have been screwed up from the fight as-.

"Enjolras?"

Holy shit.

"What?" The Not-Grantaire said, surprised. "Did you just curse?"

Had he said that out loud? "Did you fake your death? How…I don't…WHAT?!" Enjolras said, his tone getting more concerned and louder as he spoke.

"Calm down Apollo," Grantaire said, as soothingly as he was capable of. A pair of cold fingers brushed over his wrists and Enjolras flinched away. Pain flashed up his leg.

"Be careful. You've really hurt your leg." The blindfold was suddenly ripped from Enjolras's face and he was blinded by the light. When his eyes finally adjusted, he didn't know if he could believe them. Grantaire (holy shit) was standing in front of him, looking somewhat solid. His dark brown eyes were focused on Enjolras and he was as white as a sheet. What really startled Enjolras though was his clothing. He was covered in blood and most of his clothes were torn.

Enjolras may have gasped. He wasn't sure. Grantaire smiled wanly. "I want to say it looks worse than it is but…well. I could have manifested in my funeral clothes but I didn't want to be in that monkey suit for all eternity."

"This isn't happening."

"That's what I said," Grantaire responded, patting Enjolras on the shoulder. Enjolras tried not to cry out. Grantaire's temperature had to be in the negative numbers. "Though, I have to say Apollo, this is much odder for me than it is for you."

Enjolras looked at him. Grantaire shrugged. "I mean, that's my opinion. I _am _the one that died, after all."

Enjolras just stared. Grantaire looked worriedly at him. "Hey, you okay? You seem to be rather…quiet for yourself, Apollo."

Enjolras tried to speak. He really did. He looked at Grantaire for a few moments, blinked a few times, and then promptly lost consciousness.


	18. 10 Breathe Again

AN: Okay, last week, wouldn't let me update last week. I couldn't get on the website until late Friday night and by then, I was too tired to fight with it. So, today I have two updates to make up for Friday.

I LOVE the last paragraph in this but the leading up to that…eh. I'm just glad this little arc is over.

Verse: Book!Verse with some Musical!Verse

Word Count: 1,112

* * *

He drifted in and out of consciousness. Occasionally, he heard voices speaking over him. Once or twice he felt fingers brush hair out of his face and only once he felt a hand hold his own in an icy grip. Other than that, he felt nothing.

He had no idea how long he was out but when Enjolras finally came to, he had a feeling it had been a long time. Why else would Combeferre and Courfeyrac look so relieved when he finally opened his eyes.

"Prisoner…escaped." He managed to stammer out as Combeferre took his pulse.

"You don't even have to worry about it," Courfeyrac said soothingly. "They got him. Feuilly and Bahorel dragged him out themselves."

"What happened?"

"Well, we _did _turn him into the police." Combeferre said.

"Just not in one whole piece," Courfeyrac said with almost glee. "He was executed two days ago."

Enjolras was not sorry. "Good," The room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence before Enjolras spoke again.

"Combeferre? Courfeyrac?"

"Yes?"

"How did you find me?" The silence returned. Courfeyrac and Combeferre looked at each other.

"What?" Enjolras questioned, his voice weak but his tone every bit the leader he was. "What aren't you two telling me?"

The silence continued to drag on.

"Well?"

Courfeyrac cleared his throat. "Enjolras," He started easily. Too easily. Courfeyrac was trying to appear at ease but he simply looked nervous. "How much do you remember about your capture?"

"I remember waking up and being tied to a chair. I remember speaking to the criminal.

"Was there anyone else," Combeferre interrupted. "You remember speaking with?"

Enjolras thought for a moment and then: "I think I was knocked unconscious."

"What makes you say that?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Because, at one point," Enjolras felt silly admitting it. "I thought I was talking to Grantaire."

The silence in the room was almost overpowering. Combeferre stared at him while Courfeyrac put a hand over his face. It took a few moments for Enjolras to realize he was laughing.

Combeferre was not amused. "You think this is funny?"

"I think it hilarious!"

"One of our friends could be damned and you're laughing your ass off!?"

"What's so finny? Why are you upset?" Combeferre rarely cursed. Enjolras was confused, to say the least. "Nobody is being damned."

Courfeyrac continued to giggle. "I think we all are. Our minds at least. I think we're all going mad."

"We are not going mad." Combeferre said in an emotionless voice.

"Then explain it to me Combeferre, because I'd really love to have a reason for why I keep seeing him. I'd love to know why we're all seeing R."

"R?" Enjolras said faintly."

"Yes. R. We think that something-."

"He's haunting us-."

"There might have been a mistake when he was identified-."

"He's dead 'Ferre-."

"And a few of us have been seeing a figure similar to R-."

"This isn't good-."

"And I'm trying to figure out-."

"What's there to figure out? You admitted it! Why should we dance around it!? R is a ghost and he's haunting the-!"

"ENOUGH!"

The two men stopped their ramblings and looked at their leader, who had propped himself up on his elbow and was managing a ferocious glare. Both of their expressions had turned from eerily calm and panicked respectably to embarrassed.

"I'm sorry Enjolras."

"Sorry E."

"Good. I can hear myself think," Enjolras said, calmer than he felt. "Now, I want you two to stop the inane ramblings and tell me what you need to tell me."

"Something is going on," Combeferre said. "And I'm not sure there's a rational explanation."

"There isn't."

Courfeyrac spun around and jumped back from his chair. "HOLY SHIT!" He yelled.

Grantaire was standing there, looking a bit better than he had the last time anyone had seen him. He was dressed in his funeral suit which looked out of place on his body. He stared at them all, as if trying to figure out what to do.

"Can't you KNOCK or something!?" Courfeyrac yelled.

"I tried," Grantaire responded with a shrug. "Maybe you didn't hear it. Corporal objects and I aren't on the best terms right now."

"Maybe you were right Couf," Combeferre said lightly. "Maybe we are all going mad."

Grantaire shrugged again and happened to glance at Enjolras. "You okay?"

"More or less," Enjolras responded. His brain hadn't quite registered that this was strange. (He was still trying to figure out why Courfeyrac was screaming at Grantaire.)

The man in question stared at him. "You really hit your head, didn't you."

"I think so," Enjolras said, becoming aware of the bandage around his head. "It's all a bit blurry."

"Understandable." Grantaire said, still staring at Enjolras in confusion.

"Where have you been?"

Grantaire now looked scared. "Oh, you know. Around. Been painting. Walking Paris. A bit dead, you know."

"Are you sure the concussion is gone?" Courfeyrac whispered to Combeferre.

Enjolras was acutely aware of two things: one, that he suddenly remembered the past few weeks, and secondly, that he was making a fool of himself. Courfeyrac and Combeferre seemed to be aware of this and, uttering hasty goodbyes, they left the room.

Leaving Enjolras alone with a dead man.

Grantaire looked at a chair for a moment and seemed to be focusing all his energy on it. He lashed out and grabbed the chair, dragging it over. He smirked. "I hope I can sit on it after all that." He laughed weakly.

"Why are you here?"

"Metaphorically, spiritually, or literally?" Grantaire muttered. "Metaphorically, it's because my sister told you why. I'm not sure why I'm stuck her spiritually but I can't move on. And literally…I've got nowhere else to go." He shrugged again.

"Was it you that found me?"

"Yeah. Nothing better to do, I suppose."

"Why do you do that? You're putting yourself down again."

"It wasn't a big deal."

Enjolras didn't grace that with a response. He wasn't sure how to respond. Words were beginning to fail him. This man was dead. He had nothing left to loose and he came back to find him. He had saved him from certain death and…he knew nothing about him. Enjolras knew next to nothing about Grantaire.

"I found out your name at the inquiry into your death."

"What?!" Grantaire said, looking stunned. Enjolras realized he said that out loud.

"Nothing, just thinking," Enjolras said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. What about?"

Not quite sure what he was doing, Enjolras leaned forward. He had missed an opportunity the first time and, for whatever reason, he had been given a second chance. He was not letting this go by. "I want to know about everything."


	19. Arm Joe

AN- When I was doing the previous chapter, I realized something: I really love Courfeyrac.

To understand this chapter, and have your life enriched, watch this video: /watch?v=LF5a1xJtPIo . I truly believe my life is all the better for having discovered this. So now we have Grantaire and Enjolras playing this game with Courfeyrac guest staring.

I only really like the last line in this. It's probably one of my favorite lines from this little challenge.

Verse: Very Modern!Day AU. See Chapter Three for more information.

Word Count: 664

* * *

_"You know, sometimes I wonder why we don't accomplish more. Then I remember. When ever I try to work and make the world a better place, I wind up being forced to play asinine games with two of the biggest morons I know!"_

"Hey, you can't blame us this time."

_"Why not, Courfeyrac? We wouldn't even have this game if you didn't download it onto the computer. In fact, MY computer because yours is so full of viruses from all the illegal movies and adult websites you go on."_

**"I didn't need to know that."**

_"I don't need to be here."_

"Look, it's been raining for the past week. Nobody can go out because the weather is so dismal."

_"We should be out helping!"_

**"By trying to figure this game out, we ARE helping."**

Somebody sighed resignedly.

_"What's the name?"_

**"It's called 'ArmJoe'. It's a Japanese fighting game."**

"You'll like this: The name is a pun. Apparently there's a special word in Japan for our book and it's a play on this."

_"Just start the game already."_

**"OH! I want to be Apollo!"**

"Whhhhhaaaaat?"

_"You want to play as WHOM?"_

**"Congratulations Enjolras! You've finally made it! You're a character in a shoddy fighting game!"**

"Oh my god, this is the funniest thing I've seen since Marius got his hand stuck in the mayonnaise jar."

**"Speaking of Pontmercy, he's a playable character too."**

_"I just…what? Who gave them permission to put me in a fighting game!?"_

**"I wonder what combo moves you can do."**

"So we've got Valjean…who the hell is that?"

**"Isn't that Cosette's dad? Oh, she's in here too!"**

"Valjean, Marius, Cosette, Enjolras-."

_"I'm a brunette."_

"What?"

_"THEY MADE ME A BRUNETTE!? GIVE ME THAT!"_

"W-what are you doing?"

_"I AM GOING TO DESTROY THIS GAME."_

"Hey I know you're full of that patented Enjolras rage but can you not smash the computer?"

**"Why do you care, it's not yours."**

"Mine has been broken for months. All my shit is on there."

**"Alright, who are you fighting first?"**

_"That spy, Javert."_

**"Shouldn't be too hard. So you click that to punch and that to-OW!"**

"Do you really need to kick him there?"

_"Brunette, damn it…"_

**"Try a special move."**

_"How do I do that?"_

"Hit that and OH MY GOD!"

**"AH!"**

_"WAHAHAHAHAHA!"  
_

**"Okay, I'm officially worried."**

"Did you see that?"

**"Which that: The part where Game!Enjolras summoned and then dropped a barricade on Inspector Javert or the part where Real!Enjolras let out a Bond Villain worthy laugh."**

"…Both. Hey, he just killed the gunman and dropped it on Javert!"

**"Do you think he regrets it?"**

_"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"_

"Nope."

_"AHH!"_

**"Oh yeah, I just love that part where the spy rained meters down from the heavens on us. Hard to forget, that bit."**

"Okay, you won. Are you done?"

_"BRUNETTE."_

"Answers my question."

* * *

"Why do we need a police man character? We already have one. This is pointless."

**"Hey, I'm the cynical one!"**

"This game is slowly causing me to lose hope. It was funny at first but now it's turned into watching Enjolras scream at a computer. I see that everyday."

**"I suppose-What the hell are you fighting?"**

"…What IS that?"

**"Says its called…'Ponpon'."**

"…Oh yeah!"

**"Yeah!"**

"I remember that guy! Hung around with Bahorel and Joly!"

**"Man that guy was cool."**

"I mean, it wasn't like there was already a small character that could fight."

A cough. **"Gavroche." **Another cough.

"No, we needed Ponpon for that. Les Amis is an open opportunity group, folks! We accept creepy-ass bunnies with even creepier babies!"

**"Apply today!"**

"You know, he hasn't said anything in a while."

**"'Least he defeated that thing. Looks like he's fighting Pontmercy now."**

"He's pretty good at this. Hey, I wonder what power up move Pontmercy can do."

**"Probably cries or something and floods the place. I'm getting a beer. Want anything?"**

"No thanks."

**"Enjolras?"**

_"No thank you."_

* * *

"…GRANTAIRE!"  


**"WHAT!?"  
**

_"PONTMERCY IS RAISING THE DEAD. I WANT THAT BEER."_


	20. 70 67

AN: This was supposed to be a e/R thing but after that whole arc, I couldn't bring myself to do anything else. So have some modern day Valvert with Javert being horrible at tech.

Verse: Modern Day!AU

Word Count: 602

* * *

Javert hated criminals but he was starting to realize that he might hate Central Office even more. Why they had insisted he get this stupid toy, he would never understand. Central Office had decided that an iPhone was now necessary police equipment. While the others had welcomed the upgrade, Javert simply didn't understand it. His Nokia had gotten him through more misadventures than he could remember. It had done everything, from a makeshift weapon to literally surviving being run over. Now it was replaced by a useless piece of plastic.

Or at least, useless with out its precious Wi-Fi. Javert tried not to feel like a total idiot as he walked around in circles, holding the phone up in the air like an sword. He could feel his face uncharacteristically burning as the rookies laughed to themselves. Damn it all, he wasn't built for this sort of thing. He didn't understand all of this.

"Clear this up," He said, gesturing at the criminals standing around. What sort of world was he living in when justice was put on hold because somebody played too much Enraged Fowl or whatever. He swore, half of these games were actually the names of drugs. "I'm going to make a phone call."

He managed to slip away and headed down the street, waving his arms around. Thankfully, nobody either cared or knew something of Javert so they didn't bug him. Either way, Javert's anger started to diminish. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sign for free Wi-Fi. With an animalistic grin, he slipped into the tiny shop. His nose was immediately assaulted by a number of strong scents. The inane chatter of teenagers surrounded him and Javert considered fleeing. A coffee shop. Horror of horrors.

Javert sat down at a small table in the corner, fiddling with the infernal device. Now the stupid thing wanted a Wi-Fi password. Why wasn't it just monitored by the police or something. Anyone and their grandmother could have one of these yet he had to flee into a _'social activist' _paradise just to E-Mail his superiors.

"Sir? Do you need anything?"

Javert glanced up at the man and then did a double take. Before him stood what looked like the owner of the shop. His hair was almost all white and yet his face was quite youthful. In fact, the man appeared to be quite strong. The owner cocked an eyebrow and spoke again: "You seem to be confused."

"Do you have the password?"

"For the Wi-Fi? Sure. I can write it down for you if you want."

"That would be great, please." The man walked away. A hipster looked at him confusedly.

"That's weird. He usually makes you buy something when you want the Wi-Fi. Huh." Javert didn't pay her any attention. He didn't have time for this.

The man came back with a series of numbers written on a napkin. "Here you go. Please let me know if you need anything." Javert nodded curtly and punched the numbers into his phone. Whatever hope he had to finally use the internet was dashed as he realized his phone was 67% done with an update. Needless to say, he didn't spend much time on the internet that day. He spent it in the corner, trying to figure out the new update. It wasn't until the shop owner came back that he actually bought something and it wasn't until the owner sat down and talked to him that he actually figured something out.

And actually wound up getting a number in his phone that wasn't a work one.


	21. 7 Heaven

AN: Felix Tholomyes fascinates me as a character. He truly never knew the effects of his 'merry prank'. He never knew that not only did it ruin a woman's life and save a man's, it changed the history of France. Were I not feeling as horrible as I do now, I would go into more details but…blah, I'm sick. Anyways, enough rambling! Read on. Thank you all for such lovely reviews. I am so glad you like these silly drabbles.

Verse: Book!Verse

Word Count: 692

* * *

Felix Tholomyes died in his sleep, aged ninety years old. His loving wife was at his side and his children and grandchildren and great-grandchild were downstairs, simply waiting for a great man to finally be relieved of his sufferings. While he had been quite ill his last few months, he remained as upbeat as ever, flirting with every woman that went by and playing with the children in the garden. His death was not unexpected but even so, he was mourned.

Fantine died in her sleep, barely in her twenties. The mayor and the inspector were at her side, fighting over who would take her, God or the Law. While she had been quite ill her last few months, her life remained a Hell on Earth and all she could think of to comfort herself was her daughter, her dear sweet daughter who she never saw again. Her death was not unexpected and she was thrown into a mass grave. She was not mourned.

She had been waiting for a long time when he entered Heaven. Tholomyes was self centered with a mischievous streak a mile wide but he was never an evil man. Whatever anger Fantine had felt towards the man she had love had long since vanished and she did not seek him out. Instead, she waited for him to happen upon her. She had been waiting a long time, after all. What was a little more time?

He found her not too long after arriving. She was sitting near the river, skipping stones and thinking. He was strolling along with some old acquaintance, rambling about this and that. She looked up at the familiar sound of his voice and their eyes met. He stared at her for a few moments, trying to place her face.

"Hello Felix." She said softly. For the first time in a very long time, she felt self conscious and ran her hand over her hair. She could have changed it when she entered, but she was proud. It was a sign of her martyrdom, her hair and her teeth.

"Hello," He said uncertainly. "Favourite, was it not?"

"Not quite. I was called Fantine in life," She responded kindly. "This must be so disorienting for you."

"I'm adjusting. Fantine…Fantine…" She felt a surge of anger.

"Yes, Fantine. We had a child together." There was a moment of confusion and then, he remembered.

"…Yes. We did. Excuse me." He said to the man, who nodded and walked off.

"Fantine." He said as soon as they were alone.

"Felix." She responded simply.

"What happened to you?" He asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Do you want me to answer truthfully?" Fantine asked. When he nodded, she responded serenely: "You."

"Me?"

"Yes. The stigma of having a child and not being married is a large one, Felix. I was fired from the only job I managed to find and I was desperate. I thought my child was close to dying."

"Your hair?" He asked, staring at her in shock. He had loved her hair and it was gone. And judging by her appearance, she had died so young.

"My hair. My teeth. My body. I sold the lot. In the end, I died of tuberculosis far from my child and my love. My body was thrown in an unmarked grave."

"My God." He whispered.

"Do not worry about my body, Felix. God knows where to look for the souls of the lost." She said, a smile forming on her face, a smile of one who has made her peace. He stared at her, whatever peace he had found lost in his confusion.

"I…I…"

"There is no need to apologize. We are beyond that now. I just thought you ought to know what you prank resulted in. Cosette was left in a horribly abusive environment yet she was rescued from a man sent from heaven. And then, she met a boy. They are so happy together. It gives me great joy," She looked at Felix, her expression unreadable. "I suppose your prank ended well after all. Goodbye Felix."

And then Fantine left Felix and everything was right again.


	22. 38 Abandoned

AN: I wanted to see if I could actually write a coherent 100 word drabble. I don't know, I feel like I should do at least one. That…and I am so busy with school right now, I didn't have time to write anything else. I'm really sorry. I also really like Tholomyes…

Again, sorry. I'll write something longer tomorrow.

Verse: Book!Verse

Word Count: 100

* * *

There is a roaring in his ears he can't pinpoint. He runs to Fantine.

The girl interested him. Poor as a field mouse, but one of the most beautiful woman in all of France. The others had been wondering when he would take a new mistress and they both inured teasing when they arrived at the café, what little hair he had askew and a serene smile on both their faces.

She smiled the same way when the child was born nine months later. He didn't.

There is a roaring in his ears he can't pinpoint. He runs from Fantine.


	23. Il danse

AN: More e/R for you all. I'm sorry. I feel like I'm failing but recently, I have a ton of ideas but only for them. I also love dancing!R. We need more of him.

Verse: Modern Day!AU

Word Count: 841

* * *

Enjolras does not like parties. He never has. Even when he was on speaking terms with his parents, he would try to get out of as many 'social events' as he could. It wasn't that he didn't like to interact with people, it was that the people who attended 'social events' weren't interested in what he had to say. After he was thrown out of a party at the Plaza for calling some distant relative of the queen a very creative name, he had sworn any and all parties off.

So of course, it would be Pontmercy that forced him into this situation. Pontmercy didn't seem to understand Enjolras's feelings. He just didn't get that Enjolras didn't care about his 'lonely soul'. However, according to Courfeyrac, it was rude to not attend a friend's engagement party. Enjolras respectfully disagreed. The two of them combined would have at least four other wedding events and Enjolras would rather attend the real thing than stand around now, where he would have to talk to Pontmercy's relatives and pretend that he actually contributed to meetings instead of, in the words of Bahorel, 'crying about his life and sobbing about Napoleon'.

Yet. Here he is.

The party is predictably dull. Enjolras didn't know how big Marius's family was but it looked like his grandfather had invited everyone he knew. A few familiar faces flickered by. People who were in and out of the café, people who attended the rallies. Apart from his friends, though, Enjolras didn't recognize anyone.

But Grantaire apparently did. As soon as he walked in (late, of course, though wearing a surprisingly nice suit.), a girl screamed and threw herself at him. Grantaire had been confused for a moment and then recognized the tall, gangly girl as 'a partner from a club of mine'. This girl was now sitting across from Enjolras, sighing dramatically and looking around, clearly bored. After a while, she stood up and stretched.

"What a boring lot, these one percent people," She said with an eye roll. "Music isn't bad though. I could tango to this. Hey, R."

Grantaire looked up from his phone. "What?"

"Want to help me lighten this place up?" Grantaire cocked his head, as if listening to something. A grin, a real, bright smile, spread over his face.

"You planned this, didn't you? You know I can't resist this song."

"Not at all. Come on, I assume you remember the steps." Grantaire led her to the dance floor. He grinned at Pontmercy as he walked by and Pontmercy looks scared. No good tended to happen when Grantaire grinned.

"Why do I feel this will end badly?" Courfeyrac said loudly and the others snickered. Visions of Grantaire crashing into something danced in Enjolras's head.

Grantaire reached into a bouquet of flowers and pulled out ("Oh. My. God." Courfeyrac uttered in awe.) a rose. With an exaggerated bow in Enjolras's direction, he stuck it in his mouth and took a starting position.

Nobody was prepared for what happened next. Grantaire spun the girl into his arms and the two all but floated around the dance floor. Every single motion was planned and deliberate, yet was so graceful it seemed effortless. The girl clung to him yet Grantaire wasn't hampered by that. In fact, he seemed to move better when she was pressed beside him. The girl spun out of his grip and moved to one end of the dance floor. She twirled around for a moment while Grantaire did some of the best footwork Enjolras had ever seen. He reached up and, with a knowing smirk, unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt.

"Holy _shit._" Courfeyrac muttered. Enjolras agreed. This wasn't the Grantaire he knew. The Grantaire he knew had once fallen in a pool because Gavroche had left out a skateboard. The Grantaire he knew had required a trip to the ER after he had been shocked using the X-Box during a lightning storm. The Grantaire he knew was not a person who was this damn _obscene_ in the middle of a room.

They finished moments later, their dance having broken the ice. All sorts of people flooded onto the dance floor, each one hoping to upstage the couple next to them. The girl was breathing heavily yet Grantaire had barely broken a sweat.

"I'd forgotten how good you were at that," She said with a grin. "When you get the chance, I want to show you this routine Emilio and I have been working on. It's an Argentine Tango."

"Haven't done that in a while," Grantaire said thoughtfully. "I don't have a partner for it."

"We'll find somebody," She responded absently as she rummaged through her purse. "Shit, I have to take this call. Sorry." She scurried out of the room, leaving Grantaire with his friends. He looked at them all with an unreadable expression, the flower shoved into his suit pocket. He raised his hands into the air.

"Ole."

Enjolras wasn't sure, but he was thinking he might have just fallen in love.


	24. 13 Misfortune

AN: What's this? Some Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta? Le Shock. I love these guys.

Verse: Modern Day!AU

Word Count: 1,059

* * *

Joly tightened his grip around his weapon. Creeping forward on his stomach, he was now at eye level with the tiny band of light. From under the door, he could see the tall figure creeping around. 'Jesus Christ,' Joly thought with a shiver of dread. 'That guy's HUGE.'

It was all Courfeyrac's fault. The idiot had been drunker than R was (To everyone's shock and horror) and he had been rambling about Joly's medicine cabinet. Joly had tried to quiet him (he wasn't a drug addict! He didn't even HAVE hard medicine! It was all prescriptions left over from his many illnesses!) but that had only made it worse. An angry Courfeyrac had all but invited angry drug addicts to break into his house when he yelled his address to the entire club.

Joly had been preparing himself for the inevitable. He had been sleeping armed. Even Musichetta didn't know that he had hidden his secret weapon under his pillow. He opened the door as carefully and quietly as possible and crawled forward. The man was standing in front of his sink and in the dim light, Joly realized that the man was at least twice his size. He took a deep breath and sprang.

The man cried out in shock as the frying pan connected with his head. The man slumped against the counter, obviously stunned. Joly jumped back with all the grace of a dancer, holding the frying pan out in front of him.

"I warn you, I'm armed!" He cried shrilly.

"I can see that! Jesus, I think you gave me a concussion!" The man yelled, rubbing his head. "Is that blood? Can you see blood?" Joly looked at the frying pan, which didn't have anything on it.

"I don't think I broke the skin."

"I think you broke SOMETHING."

The bathroom door opened and the kitchen light suddenly turned on. Joly blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. A girl screamed. Then she directed his screaming towards him.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!?" Musichetta yelled.

"He broke into our apartment! He was after my pills!"

"No," She said hysterically. "I brought him home because I thought you were out! When I realized you were home, I was going to offer him the couch before you brained him!"

Joly looked down at the man. He loved Musichetta and she loved him, but the two had always had an open relationship. He realized that he wasn't exactly the man every girl hoped for, with all his phobias and the hours he put in at work. And, to be honest, he wasn't exactly Hercules. Thus, whenever she felt like it and the other partner was up for it, Musichetta would bring home somebody. Sometimes he would too but that was less common. Now that he could actually see the man, he realized that he was exactly her type. Handsome face, broad shoulders, exactly twice his size. In fact, he was perfect for her. Except for one little detail…

"Shaved head?" He asked her.

"Bald." The man responded groggily.

"Joly," Musichetta said tersely. "This is Lesgle. I went to school with him. I haven't seen him and years, and he's a bit down on his luck."

The man staggered to his feet with a shaky grin on his face. Joly had a feeling that if he hadn't almost knocked him unconscious, the man would have had a beautiful smile. "When am I not, Musichetta?"

"He has the worst luck out of anyone I've ever met." Musichetta explained.

"If I adopt a dog, it has rabies. If I go for a bike ride, it gets stolen. If I make a lady friend," Here Lesgle's smile grew wiser. "I discover I also have a new male friend."

Joly looked down at the frying pan and hid it behind his back. "Yeah, I can explain."

"No need. I find explanations sometimes make the stories less interesting and this is a story I can tell. How many times has somebody entered a woman's apartment and wound up being attacked by her frying pan wielding boyfriend. Explanations would just make that dull."

"Listen, I'm training to be a doctor. If you want, I can look at your head." Joly said. He could feel his face burning.

"No, I couldn't-." He started.

"I insist." A few minutes later, Joly found himself running his hands over a strange man's bald head, a bottle of pain killers between them. Musichetta hovered above them, Joly's medical kit in her hands.

"I must say, I've never met a man who has so much stuff in a first aid kit." Lesgle gestured at the kit.

"I told you the flu shot supplies was a bit much." Musichetta said, snark dripping from her tone.

"I like to be prepared." Joly responded tersely. The frying pan was on his lap.

"I need to teach you how to fight," Lesgle said good naturedly. "You could kill somebody with that thing."

"It doesn't appear to have cracked your skull. My aim must have been off…"

"Trust me, your aim was dead on." Lesgle said, a bit shakily. Joly frowned.

"You should sleep."

"I'll be fine."

"No," Musichetta said firmly. "I invited you home, you'll stay here the night-"

"In our bed." Joly interrupted. Both stared at him in surprise.

"Now I REALLY couldn't do that." Lesgle said.

"Mr. Lesgle, as you said, I could have killed you. It's the least I could do."

"Well…" Lesgle said after a while. "I doubt it's the least you could do."

"What do you mean?" Joly asked.

"Firstly, you could call me Bossuet. Everybody does, after all," Bossuet said, and then with a grin: "You could also join me and Musichetta if you insist on having me in your bed."

Joly stared at him, his mind uncomprehending. After what seemed like forever, he found the strength to nod. It was unlike him. He had no idea what sort of germs this man had or even his first name. However, it was also unlike him to commit a felony with a cooking device and if the others had questioned why this 'Bossuet' was suddenly living with Joly and Musichetta, they were too polite to ask. They were also too polite to ask why the frying pan had been given a place of honor in the kitchen.


	25. 65 Horror

AN: One Eighty? More like One Eighty2 spooky. Hahahaha. Ha ha. Ha. I'm such a loser.

Verse: Modern Day!AU

Word Count: 937

* * *

The woman was covered in white face paint. She grinned viciously and pressed her chest against Jehan's. When she smiled, she revealed a large pair of fangs.

"Uh, Madame, I'm afraid that I'm not quite…uh." He stuttered out as he forced his eyes straight ahead.

"He's taken, sweetheart," Courfeyrac said, shooing the vampire away. "Go suck somebody else."

The woman pouted and flounced away. Jehan stared after her while Enjolras glared at Courfeyrac. "Can I go home yet?"

"We have been planning this for days!"

"You dragged us here today."

"_I_," Courfeyrac responded with a roll of his eyes. "Have been planning this for days. I can't believe none of you have ever been on a hayride!"

"The GOVERNMENT shut down today and all you can think about is Halloween." Enjolras said in a deadpan tone. Courfeyrac shrugged.

"Today is the first of October. What else would I be thinking about?"

"I'm going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity and just be thankful."

"For what?" Combeferre asked, staring after the vampire woman (who had started to harass Marius) and completely ignoring Courfeyrac's death glare.

"Grantaire isn't here. He said he had a new job and he couldn't get off." Enjolras said, pulling out his phone and pulling up his work app. If he had to be out on today of all days, he was going to get some work done-.

"DAMN IT!" He cried.

"What?" Jehan asked, worried.

"There's no cell service here and definitely no Wi-Fi."

"Oh the horror," Courfeyrac said, a hand on the side of his face. "You might have to have some fun. How terrible for you!"

Enjolras was about to respond but he was cut off by a man in zombie makeup demanding silence. He complied, not in the mood to fight with a lunatic. He had never understood Courfeyrac but it was obvious that the man loved Halloween. Everything and anything that involved costumes and romance was perfect for him. And, being Courfeyrac, he went it necessary to inflict his love onto everyone else. Thus, the entire group was now on a hayride in the middle of nowhere. Enjolras glared at his roommate, who simply smirked and sat back. "I can't WAIT to see what you do when you're startled."

"I am never-."

Joly let out a shriek and he threw himself onto Bossuet's lap. This upset Musichetta, who was already on Bossuet's lap. Courfeyrac cackled. "So it begins! That clown wasn't too scary!"

'Somebody shoot me now.' Enjolras thought.

A bang went off and something whistled over Enjolras's head. He ducked down out of instinct. "You think attempted murder is FUN?" Enjolras hissed at Courfeyrac.

"That's new." Courfeyrac remarked as the man at the front droned on about murders and ghosts.

Enjolras sat back on the hay bale and refused to say anything more. Throughout the trip, many odd things happened, all predictable to Enjolras (of course) but everyone else was a different matter. Bahorel was grabbed by a screaming, waling woman who was yelling about him being unfaithful. Combeferre was startled by a zombie attack. Bossuet was attacked by a rouge tree branch. One by one, every Amis was scared.

It was near the end of the ride. Enjolras had managed to get some service so he was texting one of his professors about the length of an essay. Courfeyrac was glaring at him and everyone else was chattering amongst themselves. The tractor hit a bump and Enjolras jolted forward, his phone flying from his hands. "Damn it." He muttered as he searched for his phone amongst the scattered hay. He grinned as he found it and he sat back in his seat. Suddenly, a cold, clammy hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. Enjolras's heart stopped beating for a moment out of shock and then, without any warning, he spun around and punched the zombie that had grabbed him across the mouth.

The zombie let out a cry and fell off the tractor into a pile of hay. Enjolras's heart was pounding. He turned around, his breath hitched, and saw that all the Amis were staring at him with a mixture of shock, horror, and awe. Perhaps a little respect too.

"So THAT'S what he does when he's startled." Courfeyrac said.

"Let's all make a note of that." Bahorel muttered.

Enjolras didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride. When he got off, everyone decided to go for drinks and, oddly enough, he found that his were all paid for. "Dude, I think everyone's frightened of you now. You, at least, knocked that guy out." Marius said with a nervous smile when Enjolras confronted him on why Marius was picking up the tab for his ginger ale.

"You would have liked tonight," He found himself texting Grantaire later. "When do you get off, anyway? This is the latest you've ever worked."

"Not until later. This is mostly a weekend-night job." Grantaire responded.

"That's unfortunate. Perhaps you can go next weekend. He's dragging us out again."

It took a while for Grantaire to respond. "Sorry. I can't. I'm working."

Enjolras frowned. "Where DO you work?"

Grantaire sent him a picture and a text. The picture was of Grantaire, covered in white makeup that made him look ghostly and sick. He had drawn several fake scars to complement his real ones and fake blood covered his clothing. In fact, the only thing that ruined the zombie costume was the start of a brilliant black eye and a bloody lip.

The text read "You tell me, oh great Apollo. By the way, nice left hook."


	26. 34 Stars

AN: Another 100 word drabble. I'm so sorry, but I really have to study and I don't have time to write a whole story.

Verse: Musical!Verse

Word Count: 100

* * *

It was rare to see Javert actually happy. Although he was a lot easier to be around after the river incident, he was still sullen and withdrawn. This suited Valjean fine, as after Cosette left, he wasn't in any mood to be overly happy.

However, one thing managed to make Javert happy. Once a month, they would go out into the garden and Javert would lecture about the stars. Every month, Javert would become quieter but much more…peaceful. As if what he was worrying about had faded away.

Valjean, for his part, was happy to listen if he was happy.


	27. 31 Flowers

AN: Well, this is awkward. Yesterday, I had to study for my chem test because if I failed it, I would be failing chem. Again. So, today, I have two stories. A hundred word drabble featuring everybody's favorite flower lover, Jehan Prouvaire. And…well, the other one also has Jehan. I don't know, feels like a Jehan sort of day. Again, I'm really sorry about missing yesterday.

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 100

* * *

Nobody questioned it when they walked into the Corinth and found the place covered in flowers. They simply pushed through the veritable garden and found its master. A young man was perched on the table, a cigarette (or perhaps something stronger) smiling serenely at how beautiful the world was. Whenever a man walked by, he would nod and whenever a girl walked by, he would blush. And when Courfeyrac walked by, he did an odd mixture of both. But he was always observing, always thinking, always writing his poetry.

His name was Jean Prouvaire, called Jehan and he was fearless.


	28. 74 Are You Challenging Me?

AN: Too much Baby!R AU on my tumblr dashboard. If you don't know what that is, basically it's a thing going around where Grantaire got turned into a baby. It's…well, it's absolutely adorable. Though I haven't seen a lot of Jehan…so, I figured I'd do something with him being the sweet, awkward badass that we all know, love and fear. We all need a little Jehan in our lives.

Also, Grantaire is in preschool because of reasons. Maybe they all had to go back to school and this is on the campus. *shrugs* I just got here.

Inspired by Schlez.

Verse: Baby!R!Verse

Word Count: 653

* * *

The woman was uncomfortably pretty. She had long red hair, just a few shades lighter than Jehan's own. Her smile could light up a room, it could pave his way through the dark ocean. Her skin was tanned from her adventures in the sun and her eyes…

Jehan smiled.

"Hello," She said sweetly in an unidentifiable yet exotic accent. "And who would you be?"

"Uhh…" He could feel his face heating up. Damn it, the blush had only just faded from the barista!"

She smiled kindly at him and he found the words he was looking for. "My name is Jean Prouvaire. I'm here to pick up Gra-Nicholas."

"Oh, R?" He sighed in relief. She knew the nickname so he could use it. Calling Grantaire, even a baby Grantaire, Nicholas was just odd. "Are you a relative."

"I'm helping to bring him up." He said noncommittally.

"Well, you're in luck! He's just wrapping up his art project. He's really quite the artist, Mr. Prouvaire. Always drawing on himself.

"I know and please, call me Jehan." When he walked in, he spotted R immediately. The little boy was sitting at a table, scribbling on a paper with such an intense look of concentration Jehan couldn't help but laugh. R must have heard it because he looked up and smiled a gapped tooth grin.

"Jehan!" He cried and threw himself at him. So far, Jehan's name was the only one he could actually pronounce.

"Hello R!" He said with an equally wide grin. "How was school?"

"Good. Played games. Drew. I played with Marcy. She let me draw on her like the Art Man!" He held up an ink covered palm with cheeky smile.

"That's good. I'm so glad you had a good day." Jehan said, glancing around the room. A number of parents were already there, talking to their children and looking around as Jehan was doing. He noticed that a man was standing in the corner with a little girl. He was glaring at R. Jehan's eyes narrowed as the man stormed over.

"What were you doing?"

R looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"Who raised you, a bunch of wild animals? You were drawing on my daughter like a delinquent!" Jehan glanced at the girl. The ink was running down her arms and she looked quite upset. The father must have been scrubbing at her arms with water.

"Sir, there doesn't appear to have been any harm done." Jehan said coolly, pushing R behind him. They had been steadily working on helping the young R with his fear of adults. Like hell was the man going to put that back.

"No harm done!? My precious daughter looks like a delinquent all because of your stupid child!" Oh, no. He didn't. Jehan found himself smiling sweetly.

"You must really care about your daughter."

"What?" The man said, confused.

"Oh, your concern is truly admirable. You are the father of the year. Do you have any more?"

"Uh, no?" The man said, totally lost.

Jehan's smile froze. "Would you like to?" The man's face went white. "While assuming is wrong, I'll take that as a yes. Come along R, we have our poetry session in the park. I was thinking I could teach you about flowers and the different types."

"Yeah!" R said, his fears gone. Jehan smiled at the man again (who was rapidly collecting his daughter) and led R from the room. He caught the eye of the teacher, who seemed to be annoyed. He simply smiled at her as well. As they made their way out to the car, Eponine called him.

"How did the pick up go?" She asked. Jehan strapped R into the back and made his way over to the driver's side, rummaging in his bag for his keys.

"Oh, I think fine. I may be banned from pick up." She sighed.

"Who's dick did you threaten again?"


	29. 15 Silence

AN: A little fall of rain, can hardly hurt me now…Except, you know, when you're area is under a tornado watch. *shrugs* Oh well. I got a request for something with Eponine and voila! Ask and you shall receive! I hope it's what you wanted…

Verse: Brick!Verse with some Musical!Verse

Word Count: 710

* * *

A scream issued forth from the garden. Cosette awoke with a gasp, immediately flinging the windows open. It was late and yet, she could see a dim figure loitering outside her gate. A feeling of joy arose in her heart. Marius had returned!

She ran down into the garden, throwing all caution to the breeze. She grinned as she approached, whispering Marius's name. However, the figure didn't turn around. In fact, he seemed to be staring at something down the street.

"Marius?" She said a bit louder.

The figure spun around and, in the lamplight, Cosette realized it wasn't her Marius. It wasn't even a man. It was a girl, older beyond her years. Her eyes were still youthful but everything about her was aged. Her face was worn and tired. Her clothes were almost rags. And yet…there was something familiar about her…

"Can…Can I help you?" Cosette whispered, suddenly afraid.

The girl simply stared at her, as if in shock. Cosette shuffled around nervously. "If you aren't going to say anything, I'll be leaving now…" She turned away, starting towards her home.

"Wait."

Her voice was rough. Had Cosette only ever heard her voice, she would have thought her a man. Nevertheless, the feeling of familiarity lingered. Cosette knew that voice.

"Yes?" Cosette responded. The girl stared at her, as if trying to figure something out.

"It is nothing," She said finally. "I was mistaken. Please, don't let me bother you." Her tone was somewhat sarcastic. Cossette frowned. She didn't like it.

"Who are you?" She said, braver than she felt. "Why are you standing in front of my house," Cosette suddenly remembered the scream. "Was it you who screamed like a madwoman?"

"Yes." The girl said simply.

"Why?"

"Because I am a madwoman."

Her tone was perfectly frank. "But why were you screaming?"

"You know, for such a lovely house, it really isn't located in a good area of town, is it?" The woman mused, looking the street up and down. "Lots of robbers. They must try to break into this house often."

Cosette just stared at her. She wasn't certain of what else to do.

"And what if somebody scared them away? What if somebody played guard?" The woman said and with a note of finality, sat down on the ground, drawing her legs up into her skirt. Cosette simply stared down at her.

"What?" She finally said.

"Still trying to work through it?" She mumbled, examining the dirt under her nails.

"Who even are you? How am I expected to understand what is going on if I don't even know who you are?"

"I am…somebody. I'm just the watchdog, actually. That's all I am and all I will be," The woman said, speaking faster as she reached the end of her small rant. Realizing how she sounded, she suddenly switched gears. "Besides, my name's melodramatic anyway. Straight out of a romantic novel. Suppose you wouldn't have read those, living the good life the way you have. Did you know I can read? I bet you assumed you couldn't, because of the way I looked. I didn't always look like this, you know, the same way you didn't always look like that. I could read and write when you couldn't. I remember even if you-." She cut off, and she looked up at Cosette, a flicker of fear spreading over face.

"What?" Cosette breathed. The woman turned away, studying her feet like they were the most interesting things in the world.

Cosette looked at her and she remembered a name. A fragment of a name, to be precise. She had blocked it out, just as she had blocked out most of her childhood yet she found herself saying the name: "'Ponine?"

The girl was silent. Cosette stood there in silence for a few more moments, then returned to her home. After a few minutes, she returned again with a letter. She glanced at the girl and shoved the letter into the fence. "I am sorry 'Ponine." She said sincerely and returned to her home, never to see her again.

Eponine stared up at the letter as if in deep thought and then, with a small nod, she plucked it from the fence and headed towards the barricades.


	30. 14 Smile

AN: Have anther short/Eponine related drabble. I went over the barricade scenes and I had forgotten how compelling a character Brick!Eponine is. However, I am very dry for ideas right now. Anything you guys would like to see, anything at all? Even a character name would help.

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 100

* * *

It's hurting now, and she's trying not to let it show. She's good at it, disturbingly good at it. After all, she is good at it by now. She doesn't really care anymore, though. She's close to the end anyway. _He's_ speaking to her and all she can do is stare. She has _him_. What does she care that she's wounded. _He_ is holding her. What does she care if so many other's are dead._ He_ is focused on her. And what does she care that she is going to die soon. So is he. They'll be together.

She smiles.


	31. 32 Night

AN: I don't know where the hell this came from but there is Jehan Prouvaire. like this AU.

Verse: 20's!AU

Word Count: 443

* * *

He exhaled deeply, a white cigarette in his slender fingers. The smoke rose up into the air, providing contrast to the starry night. The man pushed his dark hair out of his face and continued to search the sky.

"What are you looking for?" A quiet voice asked. He took a leisurely drag from the cigarette. "Ass." The voice muttered again, yet there was a teasing tone.

Courfeyrac turned around, a grin playing on his face. His love was sitting there, red hair unbraided and a cigarette held loosely in his own fingers. He could just make out his smile in the dim light.

"I don't know. That odd ball police man was going on about the stars."

"Odd thing to talk about when you're arresting somebody."

"Well, as I said, that police officer's odd. About the only one in this damn city that isn't corrupt."

"Odd indeed." His partner mused. He extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray beside his bed and pulled out a battered notebook. He pulled a pen out from behind his ear and scribbled.

"What are you writing about now?"

"Just a poem."

"Make sure you write something about me."

"Such gall!" Jehan cried and chucked a pillow at him. Courfeyrac laughed and threw it back. If anyone had looked through the window, they would have been in shock and awe. Imagine this! Two of the most feared criminals in Paris playing like children. Nobody would have believed it. Seeing was believing, after all, and nobody had the chance to see these gangsters being human for once.

After one had beaten the other into a pillow dominated submission, they lay together, both looking at the stars. "I have to get up early." Courfeyrac breathed.

"Mhm?"

"Pontmercy wants to ship some of the booze upstream. The order apparently came down from E himself."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Courfeyrac said, lighting a new cigarette. "Apparently R, of all people, has run dry."

"And by that he means he's drank half of Chicago dry." Jehan remarked dryly, trying to come up with a particularly romantic rhyme.

"But of course. So I really must be going."

"Why?"

"I need to sleep- Stop nibbling on my ear!"

"Would you prefer something else was nibbling on your ear?"

"No…"

"Then be quiet. You'll sleep just as well here, in my arms, as you would in your iceberg of a bed. Just stay with me."

This wasn't good. Whatever this sex-turned-something else relationship he had wasn't good. He could imagine what would happen when they were found out, and none of it was pretty. Nevertheless, he found himself both not caring and falling back into Jehan's intoxicating grip.


	32. 30 Under the Rain

AN: I think I might have something against Grantaire. I sure love to put him and Enjolras through horrible things…

Today's drabble is based off this post on tumblr: tveit .co .vu /post/61151460033/grantaire-shot-like-eponine-a nd-dying-in-enjolras

Verse: 2012 Movie!Verse with a smidge of Brick!Verse

Word Count: 565

* * *

The National Guard swarmed the barricade like ants. A hail of bullets buzzed over Enjolras's head and he ducked down, managing to take aim through a chair. He exchanged his now empty rifle for a loaded one. He pulled himself up and aimed again, sending off his remaining shots in quick succession. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the guardsmen point his rifle at him. He didn't have time to turn his head so he simply waited for the bullet that would end his life. But it never came. A hand suddenly covered the end of the rifle and physically pulled the weapon away. It discharged, giving Enjolras enough time to grab another weapon and take out the guardsman.

Marius was chattering away next to him, waving a torch around in the air. "If you don't move, I'll blow up the barricade!" The guardsmen stared at him for a few moments. Marius dipped the torch down, dangerously close to a container of gunpowder. The few seconds seemed to drag on but eventually, the guardsmen began to reluctantly creep again. Enjolras felt a surge of hope. As soon as the guardsmen had left, he jumped down from atop the barricade.

Grantaire was kneeling on the ground, head slumped down. He appeared to be examining something. Enjolras sneered and walked over to him. "Have you finally decided to come out of the Café?"

Grantaire lifted up a shaking hand. In the middle of the palm was a perfect circle. Grantaire swayed slightly and fell over, his eyes closed and his face deathly pale. His shirt was all but soaked in blood.

The distain he felt now vanished, Enjolras crouched next to him. "Grantaire?" He whispered. The man's face was devoid of all expression. Enjolras pulled him into his arms, his head resting on Enjolras's knee. "Grantaire!?"

Grantaire's eyes slowly opened. He blinked a few times and eventually he managed to focus on Enjolras. He smiled, a real smile, a smile full of love. "Hello." He whispered. Enjolras picked up his wounded hand.

"What's this?!" He cried, somewhat hysterically.

"Couldn't…let…them kill you," Grantaire said. Catching sight of Enjolras's expression, he pulled himself up and spoke in an almost reassuring tone. "I don't feel any pain. Not anymore."

He rested his head back on Enjolras's knee, looking paler than ever. That moment had cost him dearly. "Why?" Enjolras asked. "Why did you do this Grantaire?"

Grantaire was breathing very shallowly at this point. He reached up with his injured hand and clutched at his chest. He closed his eyes. "Grantaire!" Enjolras cried, at this point not caring that his friends were gathered around him, watching him break down. Grantaire gasped suddenly and winced, his grip on his shirt tightening. He opened his eyes as wildly he could yet they were barely opened.

"Why not?" He whispered. "I told you, I couldn't let you die. I…believe in you." Enjolras knotted his fingers in Grantaire's damp hair. The rain had started to fall.

"Grantaire…" Enjolras whispered.

Grantaire gasped again and his eyes shut again. Pain was evident on his face. An agonizing moment went by and then his face went blank. Enjolras was sure he had died but then, his eyes opened. They were staring at Enjolras yet they were also looking beyond him. "I loved you, that's why?" He whispered.

He smiled and then died.


	33. 36 Precious Treasure

AN: Eek! I have forgotten to write another entry! The next time I do this, I give you full permission to revolt against me.

This is set before 'Night'.

Verse: 20's!AU

Word Count: 486

* * *

In a world full of angry men, there tended to be drunk men. And in this current climate, the angry men could not get drunk. That was where supply and demand came in. Enjolras had the supply and though he was at the back of the pub, he could already hear the demand. Besides, Enjolras loved nothing more than to assist the angry men.

The man stood in the back of the alley, checking his battered timepiece over and over again. His face was shadowed but Enjolras saw his grin flash bright.

"You would be E then?" The man asked, his tone calm. You would never have guessed that he was working with the biggest mob boss this side of Chicago.

"Yes sir. You would be the new pub owner?"

"That's me. You've got the 'treasure', then?"

"The 'treasure'? Yes, of course." Enjolras turned to his men and nodded. They began to carry in the booze.

"I was sorry to hear about the death of the previous owner," Enjolras said lightly. "It was a horrible accident."

"It was," The other said suddenly, as if he wanted to push away the blame. "Nobody had nothing to do with anything!"

"I'm not saying that, friend. It truly was a horrible accident." Enjolras said, staring the shadows with an unreasonable expression.

"Good." There was a quick flash of metal as the man took a swig from a flask. And then another.

"There will be nothing to sell if you drink it all." Enjolras muttered. The man stepped into the light and Enjolras got a good look at him. His face could not be called handsome, nor could it even be called plain. However, there was something interesting about the twisted nose and scarred face. The man stared at him for a few moments, as if debating something.

"Are you REALLY him? Are you really E? You know, in these times, many men send an imposter."

"Not I." Enjolras said, trying to figure out what the man was getting at.

"You know, I hear things in this pub."

"Really?" Enjolras said in a bored manner.

"I hear about the coming battles. I hear about the men who are planning things. I hear about the government."

Enjolras swallowed. Few knew what the money he was making in the bootlegging business was actually funding. Suddenly, he wished Courfeyrac was here. He was better in these sort of situations, but he was more interested in some blonde poet these days.

"Oh do you?"

"Yeah. I figure, somebody could use that sort of information," The man said, looking at Enjolras. He extended a hand with an easy smirk. "By the way, I'm R."

Enjolras looked at the hand, and then back at R. "Nice to meet your R." He responded with a genuine smile and a shake of his hand.

Booze may be good for a while but information was the real precious treasure.


	34. 20 Fortitude

AN: So how was your long weekend? Mine was great, even if I'm getting a bit sick.

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 384

* * *

The man, more of a boy really, shifts in his seat. His face is young but his eyes are old, beyond their years. They look up and meet his own, unwavering. The Prefect has seen it all but it is he that folds, not the child.

"Javert, it is?" He finally says, shuffling through the paperwork.

"Yes sir." He's little more than an overgrown gamin yet the Prefect has received more respect from this man than he has from the entire force.

"Yes, here it is, Etienne Javert." There is a flicker of something over his face, something that showed this person was indeed human…and didn't like to be referred to by his first name.

"Javert then. You come highly recommended from the head of Toulon. I understand you wish to join the force."

"Yes sir," Javert says. "I have an excellent record. I have stopped several escapes."

"Ah yes, That business with that repeat escapist. 24601, was it?"

"Yes sir. You'll see that when I was transferred to his block, not only was he caught earlier, other convicts," He all but spat out the word. "Did not dare attempt to escape."

"I see." The Prefect had once heard that eyes were the windows to the soul. The man- Javert- had such unnerving grey eyes, he wondered what he was dealing with here.

"If I may be so bold, sir, I think I would have much to offer here. I have worked hard every day of my life and I'm not afraid to continue that." Javert said, determined.

The Prefect thought for a moment. After asking a few more questions, he dismissed him. Javert had thanked him and left the room without another word. Had the Prefect not felt so confused, he would have wondered if the lad was ever here to begin with.

He had seen the type of man Javert was. He was a terror. The question was, would he become a terror to the criminal classes or a terror among the criminal classes.

The question was simple. He told one of the officers to go after the young man. At the end of the day, there was a new member of the force and all the prefect could do was hope the worry he felt would be transferred to the criminals.


	35. 29 Happiness

AN: Ugh, I'm so sick. I really can't bring myself to write very much tonight, I'm so sorry. So…we have a little Marius/Cosette scene.

Verse: Musical!Verse (Because Brick!Marius really bugs me.)

Word Count: 298

* * *

A man flirted in and out of Marius's grandfather's social circle. He was from the western part of the country where he held a prominent position. Marius had met him a few times, at one of the many parties his grandfather had him attend. He really couldn't say he liked the man but as he knew so little about him, he really couldn't say he disliked him either.

Marius had not attended a party in a long time. All he needed was Cosette, after all, and the two had spent several months abroad. Their honeymoon had been delayed by her father's disappearance but after his death, she had insisted on getting away. Marius felt horribly, horribly guilty for what had taken place but Cosette's own grief was far worse. While the months at sea hadn't caused it to fade away (and he doubted it ever would), it had resulted in their latest joy.

Cosette sat in the corner, surrounded by a chattering crowd. Marius joined them with a content smile. The small child was in her arms, watching the excited group impassively. Marius nodded at the man he had been reflecting on earlier, who had joined the group surrounding Cosette.

The man nodded back. "Monsieur."

"Monsieur, I have not seen you in a while. How have you been?"

"I have been well. I can't complain, really. I've been aging since I was in my twenties, so it's nothing new," He laughed. "I see you've been well. You have a lovely wife and child. Cosette is it not?"

"Yes, it is indeed. I don't think you two have met. Cosette!" Marius cried. She looked up, a serene smile on her face.

"Yes?"

"I was just saying, I don't think you two have met. Madame Pontmercy, meet Monsieur Felix Tholomyes."


	36. 6 Break Away

AN: Another 100 word drabble? Yes, because I really can't bring myself to write any more. I feel horrible tonight.

Also, Jean Valjean needs more love. I don't see a lot of him just on his own.

Verse: Musical!Verse

Word Count: 100

* * *

The night was closing in when he first fled. He managed to get over the wall but was stopped by a overzealous guard with a quick hand and a quicker truncheon.

He actually made it out of Toulon the second time. He probably would have been fine had it not been for the storm that washed him into the sea. He almost wished he had drowned when he was yanked into the boat.

His third was the most elaborate as well as the shortest lived.

He ran during the day once. It was horrible.

He didn't run a fifth time.


	37. 28 Sorrow

AN: Somebody on tumblr once brought up what Musichetta would do after Bossuet and Joly died. I can't remember the exact post or how it went but that's the inspiration for tonight's drabble.

Verse: Brick!Verse, with a smidge of 2012 Movie!Verse (See if you can find it.)

Word Count: 328

* * *

A girl makes her way through the remains of the streets. The battle had taken its toll on more than the student population. The rubble chokes the streets and only the bravest pick their way through the wreckage to claim a body. Those who have gone claim that the real battle begins when you try to pry a body from the government, but she is here for two and she is strong.

She pays no attention to the destruction of the street, her only focus being on the destruction she was left to clean up. Bossuet's family was dead. Joly's family might has well been. Musichetta isn't stupid. She knows she's the only one who's coming for the bodies and even if it kills her, she will aid them.

She enters the square to no resistance, though she is too numb to question why she was let through so easily. A group of women sit there, scrubbing at the ground, still soaked with blood. They look at her briefly and then return to their work, their only thought being a question as to who she is claiming. As she walks into the café she had once frequented, she has to force herself to look at Enjolras, still lying where he died.

She knows it's wrong. She knows that he had the best intentions. Yet, Musichetta cannot bring herself to feel anything but anger towards him, even though he is dead. It is because he is dead. He is dead and he has led both of her loves to their deaths. She is all but trembling with anger when she enters the room. As she leaves with her loves, she is still trembling, but it is not from anger.

The government cares not what happens to them anymore. So they shall be buried together. After that…Musichetta doesn't know. But she imagines she'll think of something, because she will not go quietly into oblivion. Angry men leave behind angrier women.


	38. Happy Birthday!

AN: Oh this is utter crack. Of course, it's crack in honor of Aaron Tveit's birthday…but it's still crack.

Just a heads up, Friday's drabble will probably be an E/R one, depending on how the week goes.

Verse: Modern Day!Verse/Reincarnation!Verse

Word Count: 793

* * *

The problem started much the way most do: with Courfeyrac.

It had taken him almost one and a half life times but he had done it. He had discovered the date of Enjolras's birth. Their leader had always been quiet when it came to his personal life. It had taken Courfeyrac _years _to discover his name (yet, it only took him six seconds to be sworn to silence) and other than that, he knew as much as anyone else. He had hoped that when they became roommates (you know, after raising from the dead and all that), he would learn a little more about him.

In fact, he found out his birthday completely by accident. The 'fearless leader' had apparently signed up for a website that sent coupons for birthdays. Enjolras was always out when the mail came so it fell to a usually hung-over Courfeyrac to get whatever mail had come. When Enjolras returned home, instead of finding his roommate sleeping in random places, he found him shouting animatedly into a phone.

"Any reason why you're running up our phone bill?" Enjolras asked mildly. His smirk vanished as he saw Courfeyrac's own. "What are you plotting?"

Courfeyrac's grin grew wider and he leaned forward over the counter, his voice unnaturally high and terrifyingly sultry. "Happy Birthday to you."

"Oh. Shit." Enjolras said.

"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, Mister President. Happy Birthday to you." Courfeyrac warbled as he sashayed around the counter. Enjolras backed away in horror.

"Who knows?" He asked, grabbing Courfeyrac's arm.

"Take it easy, Birthday Boy," Courfeyrac said good naturedly. "I didn't tell many people."

"So the whole group knows."

"Yup."

"Damn you to the lowest level of hell."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I'll go and chill with Brutus and Cassius later. I have a party to plan." Courfeyrac said, picking up the phone.

"There will be no party. I won't go."

"Oh yes you will. I've died for you once and I'll die for you again. The least you can do is let me throw a party for you. Besides, I've already ordered the cake. And it is gigantic. You wouldn't want a gigantic, hollow," Courfeyrac waggled his eyebrows. "Cake."

"No strippers, for the love of God!" Enjolras cried, almost upset."

"No dude, I would NEVER," Courfeyrac put his hand on his heart, offended. "Hire a stripper."

"I don't see why you care. It's just my birthday."

"You're my best friend. When was the last time you had a party, anyway?" Enjolras blinked.

"See! If you have to think about it, it's too long," Courfeyrac screamed, angrily pointing at Enjolras, who was watching him skeptical." No, it's worse than that! It's horrible."

"Many things are horrible-." Enjolras began a speech.

"Try to have some fun in your life, oh Fearless Leader!" Courfeyrac said as he cut Enjolras off, jumping on top of the kitchen island.

"No!" Enjolras cried, slamming his hand down on the kitchen table.

"Be careful," Courfeyrac said. "That's the sixth table we've stolen this year."

"I am not going and that's final!"

* * *

"Happy-!"

"Pontmercy. Finish that sentence and I'll finish you."

Marius smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, a drink in his other hand. "Sorry Enjolras."

Courfeyrac danced over, two drinks in his hands and a lampshade on his head.

"It disturbs me that you've cut eye holes out of that." Enjolras muttered.

"Have a drink!"

"No."

"Come on!"

"I refuse to even remotely enjoy this."

"You're no fun!" Courfeyrac pouted, looking around. "It should have been here by now."

"What?" Marius asked.

"The cake. It truly is a modern marvel. You could hide a body in that thing!"

"How did you manage to get one so quickly?" Marius asked in awe.

"Never underestimate the power of the Fey." Courfeyrac managed to say with a straight face. Enjolras snorted, a bit amused by the pun.

The door to Joly's apartment opened and two men rolled a gigantic cake into the room. It was dark red with black swirls on the side. The swirls probably represented something though Enjolras had no idea what.

"Excellent!" Courfeyrac yelled as he fist bumped with Marius.

"Et tu, Pontmercy?" Enjolras said dryly.

"Sorry," He responded sheepishly. "He's very persuasive."'

"I told him no strippers. I hope he at least respects that, though I doubt it." Enjolras grumbled as Courfeyrac lit the candles.

"Trust me," Marius said kindly. "He didn't hire a striper."

"Great, because I-." Whatever Enjolras was going to say was cut off by a muted smash, like somebody was tearing cardboard. Enjolras watched in horror as a large, hairy and familiar hand burst out of the cake.

"He had no need," Marius said, downing his drink. "Grantaire said he'd do it for free."


	39. 5 Seeking Solace

AN: I'm so sorry guys but I have a really big speech I have to go prepare for. *embarrassed*

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 100

* * *

Javert was not the sort of man that sought comfort often, but how else could he describe what he was doing now?

He stood outside the mayor's door, his wrist clutched in his other hand. He could feel the bruises beginning to form, and he couldn't bring himself to care. It wasn't like he had felt worse. He raised his good hand, wincing at the pain, and knocked on the door.

The mayor was in, of course. As soon as he opened it, his eyes widened. "Hard night Javert?"

"A living nightmare, as usual. May I come in?"

He smiled.


	40. 9 Drive

AN: Here's a dialogue based drabble for tonight aaaaaannnnd…it's pointless. I mean, I like the last few lines but the rest…bleh.

Verse: Modern Day!Verse where Javert and Valjean are raising Cosette.

Word Count: 347

* * *

"It's really not that bad. I think I can do this, father!"

"I think you can too. However, I have a minor suggestion."

"What is it?"

"If you want to learn to drive, you may want to actually get into the car."

"Oh…yes."

"…Today would be nice."

"Of course, okay. So I put the keys in the ignition?"

"…"

"What?"

"Ahem."

"What?!"

"Have you no shame? Do you WANT to break my heart?"

"What did I do? Oh wait, the seatbelt. I know, it's the law. Sorry father."

"Remember while I may be your father, I am also a police officer-."

"Oh god."

"But even then, I do not expect my fellow officers to go easily on you. In fact, I shall tell them to look out for you when you get your license."

"Javert! She isn't going to get her license if you don't show her how!"

"I know Valjean. I'm working on it."

"Father, I already know how to drive."

"Then why are you so nervous?"

"Well, I'm just worried about breaking some unknown law."

"As you should be!"

"What?"

"Thank goodness you're aware of it, but so many aren't now a days I have to be sure. Just imagine if the girl I raised went out and drove the wrong way on a one way street."

"Father, do you really think I'm that-."

"I will not abide lawlessness, Cosette."

"I am well aware-."

"You need to the meaning of the law."

"Yes-."

"JAVERT FOR THE LOVE OF-."

"Your father needs to learn to keep his temper."

"And she needs to learn how to drive!"

"Well, I don't see you helping. She must learn the laws of the road before she can learn how to go anywhere!"

"How do you expect her to learn the rules if you don't take her anywhere."

"Eponine? Hi, Cosette. I know you don't really like me but you're the only one with a car and I need a ride. Oh, anything's fine. Don't I have a car? Yes but it's occupied…by my dads. Yeah, they're getting educational again. Thanks."


	41. 68 Hero

AN: Note, this is an angry Brick!Javert piece and angry Brick!Javert does not like prostitutes. Thus, he uses some derogatory terms for women. Just a warning.

Verse: Brick!Verse (with a whole bunch of other stuff from other verses)

Word Count: 269

* * *

Damn it to hell…

Javert came to in the hospital, lying where he had fallen. His shoulder stung slightly and his eye throbbed, a black eye already forming. He got to his feet, his head still foggy yet he managed to remember why he was on the floor and how he had gotten there in the first place.

Valjean.

Damn that man. Damn him and his need to meddle. The man thought himself a hero yet Javert knew the truth. And now he had to make sure everyone did.

The prostitute.

Javert glanced over at the bed. The whore still lay there and despite what she had witnessed, her face was peaceful. Javert sneered. What a world he was living in where a harlot like her was protected by a mayor, a respected- convict. That was all the 'Monsieur le Mayor' was. He was a convict that had lied his way into the hearts and wallets of the people and then, he continued to lie his way into a public office. A convict as a leader! Was Javert truly himself, he would have shuddered.

Nevertheless, he couldn't have gotten far. And he had heard everything about the whore's child. He had asked some questions and the factory girls were happy to oblige. The child lived in a town not far away. If he rode though the night, he had no doubt he could catch up to the 'hero' of the city.

Javert grinned. It was a sight to see. Yes, by tomorrow it would be done. The hero would fall. He would fall as all things must: in flames.


	42. 19 Gray

AN: Last week was Asexual Awareness week! (asexualawarenessweek. com) As an asexual myself, I truly believe that Enjolras was written as an Asexual, even if there wasn't necessarily a word for it. So in honor of this week, have some Asexual!Enjolras! I tried to keep him in character here, as well as trying to show that this was way out of his comfort zone. Writing Enjolras is hard.

BTW, the title name is a reference to the colors of the Asexual flag. Fun fact!

Damn I missed another deadline. I'm just going to publish on weekends if this happens again.

Verse: Modern Day!Verse

Word Count: 651

* * *

Enjolras had been staring at his phone for half an hour when he finally got up the courage to text Grantaire. It was ridiculous. Here he was, one of the most feared social activists this side of Paris afraid to tell his boyfriend what he truly was. After a few more moments of reflection, he typed: "I'm asexual."

His fingers alarmingly shaky, he sent it.

"I'm asexual."

* * *

Courfeyrac blinked at him, an annoyed look on his face. "No shit Sherlock."

"You know?"

"Know? Enjolras, I _knew_ it. I _have known_ for years. I've just been waiting for you to figure it out."

"And…do you have any thoughts on this?"

"Look dude, I have enough sex in my life," Courfeyrac said. "I have no reason to care about who you are or are not having sex with."

"Oh." Enjolras said and that was that.

* * *

"Do you consider yourself homoromantic?" Combeferre asked over a pint.

"Romantic?" Jehan asked, a smile on his face.

"Uh, I hadn't really…yeah. I guess I am."

"You don't sound too certain." Combeferre said.

"Well, I am. Just…saying it out is a bit awkward, I suppose."

"Apollo is confused? This is a new one." Jehan's smile grew wider.

Enjolras glared at him. "Why do I even bother?"

"Because we love you. What does Grantaire have to say about this."

"I…don't know."

"You haven't told him yet?" Combeferre asked, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you think you should?"

"I texted him. He hasn't responded."

Combeferre and Jehan exchanged a look. "I'm sure he's just busy." Jehan said, patting Enjolras's arm comfortably. "Today's the day of that art exposition, right? He's probably just busy."

Enjolras took a swig from his beer. After a while, he spoke: "I'm sure you're right."

* * *

Marius didn't know what Asexuality even was. After making some rather blunt (aka in the regular Pontmercy fashion) comments and getting yelled at by a very understanding Cosette, he said he didn't have a problem with it.

"Hooray for you." Enjolras dead-panned, though he was secretly relieved. Pontmercy may do stupid things, but at least he knew he could count on him to be nonjudgmental.

* * *

"The hell is that?" Bahorel had asked.

"It means I don't experience sexual attraction." Bahorel cocked his head curiously but before he could speak, he was punched in the face. He flopped against the ropes surrounding the boxing ring.

"Bahorel?" Enjolras asked.

"Oh man, sorry. Hold on a second. I'll be right back." Bahorel flung himself into the fight, yelling a battle cry in some unknown language.

"I'll come back later." Enjolras yelled at the mass of limbs. Bahorel gave him a thumbs up and shouted "Whatever floats your boat, Enjolras, is alright with me!" right before he was knocked unconscious.

* * *

"Oh yeah, I've heard of that." Musichetta said, tossing the salad she was making.

"Perfectly normal, if somewhat uncommon." Joly added, wrapping a third scarf around his neck.

"We're just glad you're happy!" Bossuet grinned as he spoke, placing his broken leg up on the chair. He had slipped on the only piece of ice left in the café parking lot.

"Everyone's been remarkably acceptable." Enjolras mused.

"And what made you think we wouldn't be?!" Joly cried.

"We're your friends, Enjolras. Of course we would be accepting."

"Besides," Musichetta said, nodding her head at Joly and Bossuet. "Joly, Bossuet, and I are not the sort of people that can judge others on their sexual preferences.

* * *

He was on his way back to the apartment when Grantaire texted him.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I've known for years. Still, I'm honored that you would tell me. Now go get the milk like you promised you would, you Asexual bastard."

Enjolras sighed and grinned at the same time. He had no idea what he had been worried about. With his friends, everything stayed the same, no matter what.

Especially Grantaire.


	43. 8 Innocence

AN: I really wanted to write something moving but I have no ideas. Let me just say though, I have a specific idea for Thursday and it will. Be. Awesome.

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 212

* * *

Nobody noticed when she went into labor and she couldn't bring herself to interrupt the opera. Tholomyes was enjoying it so, and he had been so worried lately. He was always asking her how she was, what she thought about the baby, that sort of thing. She had gone on to Dahlia about how sweet it was. Dahlia disagreed. She simply smirked at her and shook her head, muttering about her innocence.

So she waited and hour, and then two. It was only when her water broke that anyone noticed. She was ushered out of the opera house by an upset (and dare she say…angry?) Tholomyes. Fantine couldn't pay attention to whatever he was saying, she was focusing intently on something else, anything else. Though she loved Tholomyes, she couldn't listen to him right now. The pain was too intense.

The doctors told her that she was lucky. That her labor was progressing remarkably fast for a first baby. All she could do was scream.

Six hours later, it was done. She had her daughter. Fantine was told that Tholomyes had gone out with friends for a late opera. She shrugged. Let him have his fun now. When he returned, they could be a family. Just her, him, and their innocent baby.


	44. 11 Memory

AN: More Tholomyes and Fantine? Yes.

Ugh, I don't like this. It just seems…ugh to me. I tried to stay in character with Fantine and she loved that bastard till the end but…ugh. Poor Fantine. Tholomyes fascinates me but I just want to go punch him know.

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 214

* * *

_She remembers him._

He remembers her.

_She remembers the way he laughed. She remembered the way he teased. She remembers his grin and his words she didn't understand and his point of views and his opinions ("Because those are always different, darling. Don't forget!" She wouldn't, even if she didn't understand it.) She remembers his favorite foods and his favorite opera and his preferred composer and everything in between._

He…well, he recalls her name. Favourite or something.

_She remembers the way he spoke. She remembers the way he yelled._

No, it wasn't Favourite. It was Fantine. That was it. He remember now.

_She remembers his darling little 'prank'. She remembers everything that fell after it. She remember the nights she went without for Cosette. Because of him, she now lives a life where she goes without. It's all for Cosette though! And that's where it all stems from._

And what was the kid's name?

_Can she truly hate him? She doesn't know. He gave her a child. He gave her Cosette. Her darling girl wouldn't exist without him. Can she really hate him?_

_Oh well, it doesn't matter now, she'll figure it out soon. She'll remember._

Oh well, it doesn't matter. He can't remember anyway.


	45. 89 Through the Fire

AN: A little Joly thing? Yes. Am I a bit lazy and waited until ten at night? Yes. Today was hectic, and I apologize. I promise that there will be a much longer piece tomorrow, in honor of Halloween. :D

Hey, has anyone else gotten a PM from some website asking them to publish. The PM I got seemed kind of sketchy. Is this a thing going around the website?

Verse: Brick!Verse

* * *

Word Count: 127

The rain comes down in sheets, far too hot for summer. Were Enjolras here, he would be going on about how the 'heat of the rain' was a 'symbol for the heat of the people and the fire in their eyes'. Joly didn't really stand by that sort of thing. He believed in liberty and the people, but he was also friends with a very unlucky man. By now, he knew the difference between ill-fated omens and bad luck.

But of course it would end well. How else could it? The people would rise, as expected and France would finally be free.

He had promised to go through fire though, not water. Water was not good at all. One would think Enjolras cared nothing for his health.


	46. 56 Danger Ahead

AN: I've been waiting to write this since chapter three.

Verse: Modern Day!Verse

Word Count: 444

* * *

"I never thought I'd see the day where you agreed to play a game with me."

"Well, we're out of candy so it was either brave the angry children or hide in a pillow fort with you and a horror game."

"I don't see why you needed to flip a coin."

"This game already makes no sense, why are we in the woods?"

"You have to find the pages hidden in the woods."

"What? That's stupid."

"It is not!"

"And the name makes no sense! The game's called 'Slender' but there's nothing slender in this damn thing! It's just you playing in the woods looking for pieces of art little better than what Courfeyrac can draw."

"It's not that bad."

"DRUNK Courfeyrac."

"Well, you have a point."

"Wait, why is the screen dark?"

"Because you turned off the flashlight."

"Why are we going so slow?"

"You can run. See?"

"…That's not much better."

"Look over there, is that a page?"

"Looks like it. One of eight? We have to find eight of these stupid things?"

"Yeah, and it gets harder as you go on."

"How can wandering about in the woods get-."

"What is it Apollo?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"…Nothing. I thought I heard some music-AH!"

"HOLY SHIT!"

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?"

"RUN AWAY RUN AWAY!"

"WHAT IS _THAT!"  
_

"GO ENJOLRAS!"

"WHY IS THERE STATIC! WAIT WHAT'S GOING ON!?"

"Well you're screwed."

"…What the f-."

"That's the Slender Man. God, you should see Joly play this game. Freaking hilarious."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Don't tell me the great Apollo is afraid of a little game."

"Hardly, R. Watch, I'll beat this game."

"Have fun man. The game randomizes the pages every time. We could be here for-AHHH!"

"JESUS!"

"Or we could be here for a few minutes."

"Grantaire."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

* * *

"Abandoned hospitals are never a good sign."

"We've found six pages so far and we've only seen him a few times."

"Why are you so into this?"

"…I'm willing to bet the next page is in here."

"You're avoiding my question. Can it be the great Enjolras feels BAD about being scared?"

"I am not-JESUS!"

"AHH!"

* * *

"Why do you have the mouse, Grantaire? You can barely walk when you're sober-."

"Oh shit, static."

"I don't even see him this time! Where is the Fascist bastard?"

"Maybe it would help if I turned the flashlight back-OH GOD I DON'T EVEN BELIEVE IN!"

"HOLY _SHIT!"_

_"_LOOK AWAY WE HAVE TO RUN OH MY GOD! HOW DID WE SURVIVE THAT!?"

"I HAVE NO IDEA!"

"Well, now we know, so we can avoid situations like this in the-AGH!"

"WAIT WHERE'S HIS FACE!?"


	47. 83 Heal

AN: Weekend. Here. Finally.

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 503

* * *

It was nothing short of a miracle.

The barricades had worked.

Grantaire could not believe it.

He had been so sure. He had been so CERTAIN that this would end badly and as usual, nobody had believed him. That was okay. He was used to beings scoffed at and written off as a wine cask. Hell, he doubted he had been missed when he passed out in the corner. Yet, it wasn't silence that had awoken him, as he had thought, it was cheering. He staggered out into the sunshine and could only stare as his friends celebrated. Enjolras had turned to him, and something even more impossible than winning the revolution.

He smiled at him.

Grantaire felt his scowl slip away and he hesitantly returned the smile, unaccustomed to people actually smiling at him.

A movement caught his eye. Two men were creeping up the barricade, two guardsmen with guns. Which they were both aiming at Enjolras.

Grantaire hadn't moved that fast in years.

When he came to, he was lying in a bed with the blankets wrapped around him like a cocoon. Joly was shining a light in his eyes.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Grantaire! You had us worried there for a moment!" Joly said, his smile strained.

"Sorry about that then."

"Don't you dare be. Do you know what you did? You save Enjolras's life. You could have died!" Grantaire snorted.

"My life's not worth much. It easy for me to exchange. Forget about it."

"I can't."

Grantaire tried to sit up as soon as Enjolras walked in, but was pushed back down. He didn't complain. The pain was too bad

"Ah!"

"What happened?" Enjolras asked, a note of panic in his voice.

"You took a bullet to the stomach, Grantaire!" Joly lectured. "The last thing you need to do is sit up."

"Why are you here?" Grantaire whispered, eyes fixed on Enjolras.

Enjolras shifted awkwardly. "I wanted to see how you're healing."

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "You probably have fat men to cut down to size, or something. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"But you…jumped in front of me. You took a bullet to the stomach. I…I don't understand. You don't believe in anything.

"I told you. I believe in you." If it wouldn't cause agony, Grantaire would have laughed. He had never seen him look so awkward. Hell, he had never seen anyone look so awkward.

"Well…I…uh."

"Apollo," Grantaire said. "Go do what you need to. I'll heal."

"…Fine. I'll…be back later." He all but ran out of the room. Joly rolled his eyes.

"Good grief."

"What's gotten into him?"

"…Do you not remember what he said to you?"

"'Shut up you wine cask?'"

"No," Joly said firmly. "When you got shot."

"No," Grantaire responded. "What did he say?"

"Well, let's just say that with was highly out of character. And it confirmed my suspicions on why he has never had a mistress."

And for the first time in years, Grantaire blushed.


	48. 17 Blood

AN: Things will be brief for now until December because I'm a freaking moron and decided to do NaNoWriMo. I do have something planned for December though…

Verse: Musical!Verse

Word Count: 157

* * *

Scrub all you want, but it'll never come out.

Oh, they can forget our names. They can claim we never existed. They can blot us out of history just as they snuffed out our live.

But the blood shall never vanish. I once claimed that it would water the meadows of France, but I was a bit wrong. It would not return to the ground, it shall remain forever on the dirt. It is a reminder. It is a reminder what the people are capable of.

It is a reminder that the sun will eventually come up. It is a reminder that even the cynics can have something to believe in, can have something to die for. It is a reminder that the people, too, will someday rise.

Oh yes, scrub all you want, but it'll never come out. You can kill us, and shed our blood. But the idea behind it, that will never go away.


	49. 18 Rainbow

AN: Thanks for all the positive reviews! I'm so glad people liked it!

Verse: Modern Day!AU

Word Count: 259

* * *

"I never thought I'd see you at a rally." Enjolras said with a slight sneer. Grantaire smiled serenely at him.

"I go to rallies all the time, oh fearless leader." Grantaire countered as he dropped a box of paintings onto the ground. Enjolras could just make out a beautiful, multicolored rainbow, perfect for the gay pride parade.

"Allow me to rephrase my sentence," Enjolras responded as he finished duck taping his picket sign. "'I never thought I'd see you at a rally under your own will'."

"You never do me justice Enjolras." Grantaire said, placing his hand on his forehead and looking for all the world grievously hurt.

"I suppose I don't," Enjolras admitted, looking over the signs Grantaire had brought. He was impressed. "You should do some designs for the Cause. You'd be fantastic."

Grantaire smiled nervously, as if he didn't believe Enjolras's words. "What, these old things? It didn't take me very long and the old insomnia's been acting up. It was nothing, really."

"Nevertheless, Grantaire, I shall not forget this," Enjolras said, heaving another sign over his shoulders. "I am grateful."

"As I said, it was nothing."

"But I won't treat it that way." Grantaire smiled that nervous smile again and sat down on the concrete next to Jehan, who was duck taping signs to sticks. Grantaire suddenly spoke.

"Hey Enjolras, after the rally, I was wondering if you would like to…" But Enjolras was gone. Grantaire stared at the crowd for a moment, then smiled ruefully. "Figures." He muttered as he reached for his bottle.


	50. 21 Vacation

AN: Nothing special today.

Verse: Modern Day!AU

Word Count: 145

* * *

Vacations were hard when traveling with your significant other. Especially when your significant other was a very terrifying cop who had a tendency to tell others how to do their jobs. However, Valjean had never realized the perils of traveling until they had Cosette with them.

Javert was about ready to arrest Mickey Mouse. Poor Cosette had been waiting all day to see him and when they had finally arrived at the park, he had up and vanished. Even Cosette couldn't behave forever: she was bawling. Javert was growling. Valjean was praying.

For now, Valjean tried to calm her down by promising to take her to see the princesses. He was a patient man but there was so much even he could take. As they walked away, he nodded to Javert, who went off to look for a warrant.

Knowing him, he'd figure something out.


	51. 22 Mother Nature

AN: Need to study. Need to NaNoWriMo.

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 113

* * *

She loves the rain. Walking through the night, she can feel the rain beating on her head. But not beating her down. Nothing can beat her down.

Cosette sits in her warm house, beautiful beyond belief and here is Eponine. This street is her home, her legacy. Cosette has a beautiful home and what does Eponine have anymore? Nothing.

But, she supposes, she can commiserate when it comes to mothers. They have both lost theirs. And when she thinks about it, it is the only thing she has that Cosette does not.

She has a mother. She flings her arms open and lets the water run down her face. She has mother nature.


	52. 23 Cat

AN: Sick. Argh. I wrote from a cat's POV. Yes.

Verse: Musical!Verse (I picture Quast!Vert myself but whatever.)

Word Count: 158

* * *

The cat crept down the alley, fully aware of its surroundings. This was his home. Paris belonged to him as much as it belonged to the gamin around him. And tonight, he was hungry. But that was okay. He knew where to get the best meal in Paris.

The Police Station was in the better side of Paris, a place where he couldn't blend in. But after he made it through the treacherous streets, he found his prize. The man was built like a brick wall, and about as kind, but he had fish. He always left fish. The cat meows and the man looks down on him, like he was practiced at that.

The man is as much of a dog as a human can be, but the cats ate well while he was around. "…Here." The Inspector says gruffly as he dumps the fish to the ground. Were he human, the cat would have thanked him.


	53. 24 No Time

AN: I'M BEHIND ON MY WORD COUNT AHHHHHH

Verse: Brick!Verse

Word Count: 195

* * *

When Valjean realized that Javert had gone, he had gone out looking for him. After a few minutes of wandering in the dark, he finally spotted the policeman's tall silhouette. He watched as Javert walked over to the phone booth and back to the bridge. Valjean started to walk faster as he realized he was doing. He was about to call out when Javert leapt from the bridge.

Valjean threw himself into the water after Javert. The water was cold, even for July. Valjean fought against the raging current, forcing himself towards the dark mass below him. With one final push, Valjean grabbed Javert around the waist and began to struggle towards the surface. His lungs were burning and his strength was failing. He flailed one hand up in a desperate attempt and-.

He broke the surface.

Valjean gasped as he came out of the water, the air a welcome relief. His strength rejuvenated, he pulled himself and Javert towards the shore. He all but threw the policeman down on the ground. Valjean ripped open his jacket and placed his ear to his chest.

Nothing.

He was too late. He had run out of time.


End file.
